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Vol. VII. RALEIGH, N. C, DECEMBER, 1884. No. 1. 



Silk— Adelaide E. While, Sen, B 1 

Evils from Books — Julia E. Horner, Sen. A 9 

Newspapers — Henrietta JR. Smedes. Jun. A 15 j 

Violets — Margaret F. Busbee, Jun. B 21 

The Poet at Home — Translated from the French of Lamartine by M. 

Helen Davis / ..^v, ; 24 | 

A Day in the SwA*i?r~£3&McClenaghan, Sen. B 29 , 

Yellow Fever — Sophia D. Thurmond, Sen. A..- 36 ! 

Mr. Pecksniff and Jonas Ciiuzzlewit — S. A tene Wicks, Jun. A, 39 i 

Breathing-places of New Yqrk — Rosabelle Hoyt, Jun. A 42 I 

The Exposition — Eliza M. Skinner, Jun. A 45 } 

Elephants — Margaret D. Hinsdale, Prep. A 49 

History of a Doll's Head — Lu'a T. Holden, Prep. A 51 

m it a I Janie Stranqe... } n r, -~ ; 

Two Historical Abstracts — < , r ... u - y > Prep. B o2 

(. JSIattie Higgs... ) r 

Editorials — Julia E. Horner 57 

Current Topics — 

Tlie North Carolina State Exposition — France — Torpedoes — 

England — Sophia D. Thurmond Go 

The Soudan — Casualties— Carrie L. Mathcwson 78 

Book Notices — 

Indian Idylls — Jennie W.Binr'am 82 

Ben-Hur — The Baby's Grandmother — Two Volumes of the 

Census — Harper's — A Lecture on the Moon — Anna II. 

Lewis SO ' 

Report of a Lecture on the Ear — Nina Horner 91 

. *- „ f Fannie M. Hardin... ) „_ 

Artaotks — , ,, T n , 9/ 

I Mary L. Osborne J 


Saint Jfery's School library 




Vol. VII. Raleigh, December. 1884. No. 1 


The Mulberry and the Silk-worm represent a strong firm, 
which has taken upon itself the responsibility of supplying the 
whole world with silk; the Mulberry furnishing the capital and 
the Silk-worm doing the work. Not the most powerful monarch 
in the world could obtain the various ornaments of silk which 
surround his throne, without the aid of this firm. 

The different varieties of Mulberry are found in different locali- 
ties. The tree is of the order Moracese, a native of warm 
climates. The several varieties are commonly known as Red, 
White, Black, and Paper Mulberry. The Black can boast of 
being the" longest-lived. Shakespeare is said to have had a tree 
of this species in his garden at Stratford, from which Garrick 
raised two trees. These two trees, we are told, were standing two 
years ago. The Red is native to North America. It has not 
received much cultivation, and the little that it has had has been 
for ship-building. It is found all the way from New England 
southward. Every school-boy is familiar with the fruit of this 
tree, which he pretends to like. The Paper Mulberry, as the 
name implies, is so called because paper is made from the bark 
of the young shoots. It is a native of India, Japan, and the 
islands of the Pacific. Being a desirable shade-tree, it has been 
introduced into the pleasure grounds of Europe and North 
; America, and it is now quite common. 

The Silk-worm is not on such good terms with any variety as 
with the White. This has been cultivated from time immemorial 

I 14136 


in China. Unlike those of other mulberries, the leaves are 
obliquely shaped and are smooth and shiny. Silk-culturists pre- 
fer to feed their worms on the variety of White Mulberry known 
as Multicaulis. Some years ago a great deal of excitement was 
created in the United States by speculations in this tree. 

Europe received the Mulberry at an early period. Two Greek 
monks introduced it in the middle of the sixth century, and it 
soon commanded wide cultivation. It gave to a part of the 
Peloponnesus its modern name of Morea, and became a leading 
product in Sicily. Opinions differ as to the place whence it was 
introduced into France. Some say it was brought from Sicily, 
and others from Italy. 

There are many varieties of the Silk-worm. Some produce 
two crops in one year, others only one. The latter, known by 
silk-culturists as the Annual, is the variety usually cultivated. 
When first hatched the Silk-worm is very tiny. The color is 
black or dark brown, but as the little animal passes through the 
different moults it changes to a cream white. At the point of 
moulting the worms cease to eat, and fasten themselves to the 
nearest support by their hind legs. They then must not be dis- 
turbed even to give them food. Each day's hatching should be- 
placed on separate trays, in order that the worms on each may 
moult and spin together. If there are large and small worms on 
the same tray the larger will eat up all the food. Between the 
moults the animals eat continually. Eight or ten days after the 
last moult they lose their appetites, and wander about seeking 
some neat little corner in which to spin their cocoons. Then 
twigs are hung up for them to spin in. A very neat arrangement 
is a series of small paper cones, wherein the little spinners may 
dwell and work. The paper keeps the cocoons clean. It is 
exceedingly interesting to watch the worm spin. First, it envel- 
opes itself in a thin tissue of floss silk as a protection, and then 
it begins to spin, winding its body backwards and forwards until 
it has formed a beautiful little ball of silk. The loops of silk in 
the cocoon are in the shape of the figure eight. One worm spins 
from two hundred to six hundred yards. The color of the cocoon 


varies. Some are pure white, some of a slightly greenish tint, 
while others are a rich gold. Any one who saw the silk cocoons 
at the North Carolina Exposition could hut acknowledge their 
beauty. A curious country fellow, who for the life of him could 
not tell what a cocoon was, stood gazing with eyes and mouth 
open, and at last came to the conclusion "that those things were 
' Bleached Goobers,' " but owned " they sure was pretty." The 
cocoons are ready to be gathered in eight days. The thin floss 
silk must be stripped off and some of the* finest cocoons put by 
for seed. The rest must be stifled by steam to prevent the moth 
from cutting through the silk. Those cut through are not wholly 
worthless, for they can be carded and spun over. Sometimes two 
or more of these little creatures spin a cocoon together. These 
cocoons are not fit for reeling, but if they are of the right color 
and quality they may be used for seed. The moths issue from 
the seed-cocoons in ten or twenty days after the worms begin to 
spin. They are white and eat nothing, as they live only a short 
time. Each female lays from three hundred to four hundred 
eggs. These must be placed on ice, should there be danger of 
their hatching before the Mulberry-tree or the Mock-orange have 
put forth leaves. The room in which the eggs hatch must be 
kept at an even temperature. The French attain this end by an 
incubator. We have been so fortunate as to see a model of this 
incubator, just introduced into the United States; of which see 
description below. 

The Chinese are said to have practiced the art of converting 
the labors of the Silk-worm to their own advantage twenty-seven 
hundred years before the Christian era. A silk historian says: 
" It is so generally understood that the Seres of the ancients, or 
the Chinese of the moderns, were the first to take advantage of 
the labors of the Silk-worm, that there is no use disputing it." 
The inhabitants of the island of Kos were also noted for manu- 
factured silk at a very early period. Aristotle speaks of the 
women of this island re-spinning and re-weaving the bombyxia, or 
the stuff produced by the bouibyx or Silk-worm. We are told 
that Pamphylia was the inventress of this process of re-spinning 


and re-weaving the thicker material into thin gauze, and later the 
Roman ladies adopted the method. 

Silk-culture was introduced into Constantinople by two Persian 
monks in the middle of the sixth century. These monks, em- 
ployed as missionaries in India, had penetrated to the country of 
the Seres and seen the little worm. On their return they went to 
Constantinople and told the Emperor of the wonderful creature. 
He offered them a great reward if they would procure it for him. 
They returned to China, and by a happy thought found a way to 
bring some of the eggs to the Emperor. They could not take the 
delicate, short-lived worm, or moth, out of its country, and the 
Chinese would not allow even eggs to be exported. The monks 
concealed some of the latter in a hollow cane, and so brought 
them to Constantinople in the year 552. All the races of silk 
worms in Europe, Western Asia, and America can trace their 
descent from these who thus travelled from the Celestial Empire. 
Some authorities say that the Silk-worm was brought to France 
in the reign of Louis XI. Anyway, it was not until the reign 
of Henry IV. that it received particular attention. The religi- 
ous wars were at an end ; the King's great aim was peace and 
prosperity. No opportunity was neglected to procure for his 
country a new and profitable industry. He surmounted all 
obstacles, and even the contempt with which Sully treated his 
undertakings did not dissuade him from his purpose. The royal 
gardens were planted in Mulberry-trees, though the great Prime 
Minister said that by introducing silk-culture the King was 
encouraging luxury, and the industry was soon established in the 
domain. Southern France has forests of Mulberries. Silks of 
the most beautiful quality and in great quantities are manufac- 
tured at Lyons. Each weaver runs from two to eight looms. 

For more than three hundred years, silk has been a means of 
support to many of the Swiss. The farmers' wives spend rainy 
clays and winter nights in weaving. The centers of the silk- 
industry in Switzerland are Zurich and Basle. Power-looms have 
been introduced during late years. Many thought that these 
would prove disastrous to the hand-looms, but there has been a 


national exposition at Zurich, one of whose objects was to show 
that this fear was groundless. There are some silks that will 
always be best made by hand-looms. 

Silk was brought to this continent by the conquest of Mexico. 
We find that in the year 1522, under Cortez, silk-culture was 
begun. The first work of the appointed officials was to plant 
Mulberry-trees. We also find that an ounce of Silk-worm seed 
was sent from Spain to Francisco de Santa Cruz for public use. 
These seed were placed in the hands of an auditor and in due 
time hatched. Then the American manufacture of silk beg-an. 
By the end of the sixteenth century the industry had almost 
entirely died out, to be revived, however, in the English colonies. 

The success of Henry IV. was viewed with envious eyes by 
James I. of England, who attempted the same in his own king- 
dom, but failed. Finding that silk could not be successfully 
cultivated in England, he bethought himself of A^irginia. Great 
inducements were offered the colonists to encourage them in silk- 
raising. Even the production of the native tobacco was checked. 
The favor of the monarch did not last long, for he quarrelled 
with the Virginia company. On the accession of Charles I. little 
was done to encourage the industry. Notwithstanding this, prog- 
ress was made, and Charles II. is said to have worn at his coro- 
nation a pair of hose and a robe made from Virginia silk. The 
Carolinas were settled in the latter part of the sixteenth century 
by some French Huguenots, themselves skilled workers in silk. 
The great adaptability of these provinces to silk-culture was set 
forth by the essayists of the time in glowing colors. They told 
of the negro and his love for easy labor, and showed how profit- 
able it would be to employ him in this industry. The introduc- 
tion of silk into Louisiana was involved in one of the mauy 
speculations, of the great South Sea Company, but like all its other 
speculations, failed. Georgia really made great progress in the 
industry for a time, and the Queen is said to have honored the 
colony by wearing a dress made of Georgia silk. This province 
was first a province of Carolina, but was afterward set off. The 
trustees ruled that silk should be one of its leading industries. 


The colonial seal bore the motto, "Non sibi, sed aliis," above a 
Silk-worm at work. Pennsylvania also tried its hand at silk- 
enlture. The ladies engaged in the industry, and accounts are 
given of "a bride who raised the silk for her wedding garments." 

"Our history becomes almost a blank during the long struggle 
for independence." In 1825 silk received national attention. 
Manuals on its growth and manufacture were published by order 
of Congress, and in 1830 a gentleman established a filature of 
ten reels and twenty operatives. Some of the first things pro- 
duced were two national flags. Bounties were offered by the 
States, both for the production of silk and the planting of Mul- 
berry-trees. Stock companies were formed and conventions were 
held in the different States. But this pi'osperous condition of 
things was doomed to last only a short time. . The increasing 
speculations in the Multicaulis Mulberry caused a collapse in 
1839. A hardier Mulberry was cultivated for a time, but even 
that was given up, and silk-culture in the United States again 
came to a standstill. 

But during all these years Silk Manufacture had gained ground. 
New machines had been invented for making silk thread, and 
Asiatic silk was used in them. Almost every variety of silk 
goods has been manufactured in the United States, but silk thread 
almost exclusively. 

If so much can be done when the silk is brought from foreign 
countries, what wonders might be accomplished if the silk were 
produced at home. We have reason to hope that this may soon 
be the case, for silk is now cultivated somewhat all over the 
United States, and in portions very extensively. The "Sunny 
South" is especially adapted to the industry. The very word 
"sunny" imports a home for the little workers that delight iu a 
light, warm climate and plenty of fresh food. Here are Mock- 
orange trees to substitute for the Mulberry if the worms should 
hatch before the latter has leaved, and a large negro population 
to serve as profitable kiborers. But why say more of the vast 
resources of the South for this industry? Some enterprising men 
are even now endeavoring to test them fully. North Carolina 


has received their especial attention. And what better proof of 
favorable answer to their tests can we have than the beautiful silk 
exhibits at the recent Exposition? That which seemed to attract 
most attention was the one from Moore county, for it was .not 
only beautiful and interesting in itself, but was made more so by 
being carefully explained by the man in charge. Boxes of dif- 
ferent-colored cocoons formed the sloping roof of a little house, 
while the sides of the house were decorated with flags made from 
North Carolina silk. The center of the roof was surmounted 
by a box full of golden reeled silk, while on the edge of the roof 
were moths and Silk-worm eggs. On examination, the cocoons 
were found to be large and firm. Lovelv as these were, the reeled 
silk was even lovelier. On first seeing the cocoons you would 
think that no reeling could make them more beautiful, but we, 
who have been so fortunate as to receive a flossy golden roll from 
Moore county, can testify to its greater beauty. Besides Moore 
county exhibit, there were others, minor, but having each some 
peculiar attraction. Granville showed silks made in that county 
in 1843 and 1844, while Wake, Wayne, and Cumberland sent 
firm cocoons. Though these did not form a brilliant display, 
they showed that their counties were doing good work. Another, 
Vance county, sent silk thread and a bough with the cocoons 

North Carolina intends to do all the work herself. She exhib- 
ited not only her reeled silk, but the reel, and while the loom 
which produced the beautiful blue and red handkerchiefs was 
from Jersey City, Moore county is soon to have one as good or 
better. New Jersey is by no means the only State where silk is 
manufactured. The Fourth Annual Report of the "Women's 
Silk Culture Association" says: "The United States is now the 
third silk-manufacturing country in the world." Dearer to the 
heart of a North Carolinian are the words of Professor Kerr: 
"Silk-culture in North Carolina has passed from the experimental 
stage, and may now be set down as one of our leading indus- 
tries." At the Atlanta Exposition our exhibit was three times 
that of any other State and at Boston it received much attention. 


Here the greater part of our State exhibit was from Raleigh. It 
is said that the cocoons so much resembled pea-nuts, that to 
answer the frequent inquiries of the visitors, a notice was put up 
saying: "These are not pea-nuts, but cocoons of the Silk- worm 
from North Carolina." Silk is cultivated in not less than eight 
of our counties but the greatest progress has been made in Moore 
and Richmond. The old impulsive spirit has been superseded 
by a thoughtful, persevering one. The early silk-culturists were 
led into vain, disastrous speculations ; those of to-day work more 
slowly but more surely. Monsieur de Lauriers is the director of 
the French colony in Moore and Richmond counties. To these 
counties have lately come about twenty French families. Mon- 
sieur de Lauriers aspires to having the colonists manufacture their 
own silk and to cultivating the vine. Mulberry trees have 
already been planted and they are not likely to be left to pine 
away and die, as were those Multicaulis Mulberries over which 
our ancestors made a fuss so long as they furnished a basis for 
speculation. A better situation for the industry could not have 
been chosen. A most delightful climate, and a country of cheap 
labor, offer every prospect of success. One great obstacle thus 
far has been the want of good reels. But this soon will be 
removed, if the reel invented by Mr. Sewell and exhibited by him 
at the silk fair in Philadelphia fulfil all the requirements. 
However, some experienced silk-culturists think it best to bring 
European talent "to bear upon our American ingenuity, rather 
than use a reel brought forward by one who is little practiced in 
the art." The silk fairs all show progress. At the April fair, 
in Philadelphia, was exhibited the Incubator before spoken of. 
This is entirely new to the United States, having been lately intro- 
duced from France. It is a patent machine for hatching the 
worms. At first sight you would think it a refrigerator; but 
you change your mind on opening the door and seeing the little 
lamp under the drawer of eggs. The effect of this lamp is any- 
thing but refrigerating- -it warms the eggs into hatching. A 
piece of netting covered with leaves is spread above the drawer, 
so that as soon as the worms hatch, the tiny little creatures can 


crawl through tin- net for food. The whole process can be 
watched through the glass door of the incubator, from the time 
the worms hatch until they crawl up for food. This incubator 
is another instance of the progress of the silk-industry in our 
State, for it was exhibited by one of North Carolina's silk-cul- 
turists, Mr. Fasnach, of Raleigh. 

We may really call North Carolina the future center of this 
industry in our country, for in no other State of the Union could 
it be better developed. .The resources of Xorth Carolina are 
vast and various. She is rich in gold mines, but they will never 
equal those of California. Her forests are filled with fine tim- 
bers of all varieties, but so are those of other States. Let Cali- 
fornia rejoice in her gold miues, the Western States in their fine 
prairies, South Carolina in her rice- fields, and little Jersey in 
her peach orchards; they will never have a chance to crow over 
us in Silk. 


Our subject may, at first sight, appear paradoxical. Surely no 
disadvantage can accrue from the company of the best and most 
learned. None the less is it true that he must be a one-sided 
person who is raised in a library only! An experienced writer 
might quickly prove this from the mistakes made by some 
scientists and philosophers. I dare not step beyond the school- 
room and nursery for my exemplifications, except to mention one 
poor gentleman farmer. This mau lived in North Carolina. 
He had learned what the books had to say on the culture of the 
sweet-potato, and concluded to plant. When the hills containing 
the slips began to swell under the expansive growth, the ground, 
as usual, parted. The affrighted planter was at his wits' end; 
the book said nothing about so violent a case. Ah! but common 
sense (such as one gathers who lives only in a library) came to 
his rescue, and he carefully plastered the cracks with cement to 
prevent the potatoes from catching cold. 


An ignorant girl wished to go to a school of high standing, 
and graduate in one year. Looking over the academic course, 
she found several studies she had never attempted. She told her 
trouble to an older sister, who, a great lover of Irving, directed 
the child to read the History of New York, saying: — "You 
need study no Physical Geography, no Astronomy, after thor- 
oughly understanding this work ; for in the first chapter a most 
complete and beautiful description is given of the world and 
all the philosophic theories respecting the creation — showing that 
the creation was a much simpler matter than common people 
consider it. The author gives the earliest and most probable 
history of the discovery of America, besides an interesting Bible 
story — that of Noah and his family. The fifth chapter contains 
all necessary knowledge of Astronomy, and is written so that it 
is a pleasure, rather than a task, to study about the moon and 

The child immediately proceeded to the study of the charm- 
ing book, and was delighted to think she could stand an ex- 
amination on so many subjects that she had been worried 
about. But her Latin ! how could she graduate without some 
knowledge of that. She thought that fate had favored her 
most wonderfully when, reading an article on Latin one day, she 
found this quotation from Allen and Greenough: "He who 
knows the Oratio Obliqna, knows Latin." Finding an Allen 
and Greenough, she turned to "Indirect Discourse" and learned 
to repeat the entire chapter. 

She told the principal of the school she wished to be exam- 
ined for the senior class. On the day appointed she refreshed 
her mind, for she had not forgotten to put her two most im- 
portant books in her trunk, and perfectly confident, took her 
seat before the examiner. Astronomy came first. 

Astronomy. — Question — "Tell me something about the for- 
mation of the earth." 

Answer — "Well, the heavens rest upon the earth, and the sun 
and moon swim about in the sky, moving from east to west by 
day and gliding along the edge of the horizon in the night. 


Some great men think otherwise, hut this seems to he the most 
probahle and commonly received idea. " 

History. — Simpler Question — " When and by whom was 
America discovered ? " 

Answer — "On the 12th of October, at sunrise; 14 or 15 
something, by a Genoese who has been nicknamed Columbus, 
but his real name is Christoval Colon." 

Classics. — Question — "What do you know about Latin '?" 

Answer — " I know it all." 

Question — " How much is that?" 

" Do you wish me to recite ? " 


Answer — "The Indirect Discourse or Oratio Obliqua, with 
the accusative and infinitive, is a comparatively late form of 
speech, developed in the Latin and Greek only, and perhaps 
separately in each of them. The use of the infinitive" — 

"Stop, that is enough of that." 

"Oh, you wish the Latin, I understand now!". 

" That is what I asked for." 

11 Si pacem populus Romanus cum Helvetiis faceret, in earn 
partem ituros. atque ibifuturos Helvetios" — 

"You may be excused for to-day," said the bewildered exam- 
iner, leaving the room. 

On the following Saturday the girl was given 'Washington 
Irving' for a composition subject. 

" I must have been born with a silver spoon in my mouth," 
said she. Remembering the preface to the History of Xew 
York, she wrote the following with little trouble: 


"Poor Irving! a sadder life tban his was never spent; but what man can be 
happy who has no home? Wandering from town to town, Irving spent his life. 
He wa6 a low, chunky, brisk-looking old gentleman, and must have excited 
great merriment when he passed through the streets. He dressed in such a man- 
ner as to attract great attention, but when we know he had no wife we are not 
surprised at this. He seems to have had but one suit of clothes, which consisted 
of a rusty-black coat, a pair of olive-green velvet breeches, and a small cocked 
hat. His hair was gray and he wore it plaited and clubbed. His biographer says 


his beard seemed to be of eight-and-forty hours' growth. I suppose it must.have 
been almost an inch long, but I suppose it grew some after his biographer saw 
him. The only piece of finery he could afford was a pair of bright silver shoe- 
buckles. In travelling from one inn to another his entire baggage was contained 
in a pair of saddle-bags, which he carried under his arm. His whole appearance 
was somewhat out of the common run, and if Dominie Sampson had lived at the 
same time and in the same place, people would have mixed the two. 

"Irving, in spite of his genius, had some faults. His temper was easily roused 
by the noise of children, and sometimes it moved him to act in such a way that 
people thoughthe was not exactly "compos." But this we may excuse also, remem- 
bering that he had no wife or family. He would fly into a rage if any one tried 
to arrange his books, which otherwise were lyiug about at sixes and sevens cov- 
ered with old paper and the like, saying it would take him a year to get them in 
order again. He was an inquisitive old gentleman, and always prying about. 
But what else could we expect of him since he had no beautiful home and no 
friends ? He was very fond of arguing about the most trifling matters, yet he 
blames William the Testy for never allowing even a self-evident fact to pass un- 
challenged. Irving was very bad about paying his tavern bills. Once he ran away 
from a tavern where he owed a deal, and the landlord advertised for him in vain. 

"Irving's life serves as a lesson to all not to wear silver buckles while they owe 

When this composition was read, the teachers decided that the 
girl was not of sound mind and sent her home. No sooner had 
she reached home than a mischievous brother, regardless of con- 
sequences, proposed to her to complete her article on Irving, say- 
ing, "You might make it as fine as Boswell's Johnson; or have 
you read that hook?" 

"Yes, I have read it, and I remember while reading it I 
thought Johnson was almost as learned and distinguished as 
William the Testy, but not nearly so peculiar in his habits as 
Irving. I think I might make something out of the two." 

"How is William the Testy like Johnson?" 

"Why, he made gallant inroads into the dead languages, in 
which he took captive a host of Latin verbs and Greek nouns. 
He carried off rich booty in ancient saws and wise apothegms, 
which he was wont to parade in his public harangues, as would 
a triumphant general his spolia opima. He was a great logician 
and, as Knickerbocker says, never allowed even a self-evident 
fact to pass unargued. But I think that proves how careful he 
was to obey Upham's rules for memory; because Upham says, 
"Never be satisfied with a partial or half acquaintance with any- 


"To be sure," said the highly amused brother, "but do vou 
remember how William the Testy manifested his wisdom?" 

"Why, don't you remember his admirable expedients for the 
suppression of poverty, his projects for increasing the currency? 
He must have been the greatest man that ever lived, and it is 
the greatest mystery to me that he is not mentioned more in lit- 
erature. I am sure, being a man of such wonderful learning, he 
did, in his life, write something more worthy the esteem of the 
present age than Pope's 'Rape of the Lock,' and much truer. 
All that Pope tells about never could have happened. Fancy 
any one so small as to be cut in two by scissors! But there is 
no use in finding fault with poor Pope, when he has been dead, 
!<• ! these many years; and I will begin my biography of The 

We may laugh with contempt at this silly girl, for we see that 
she used no sense, and we blame her more than we do the books. 
But when children are imposed upon by marvellous stories which 
even father and mother cannot reconcile, those who behold the 
perplexed and even tear-stained little faces cannot restrain a feel- 
ing of indignation against the heartless authors of such tales as 
"Babes in the Wood," "Jennie's Stepmother," "Nellie's Christ- 
mas Eve," and even those of "Mother Goose." Life has enough 
disappointments and perplexities awaiting the little inmates of 
the nursery, without the childish grief which such books arouse. 
Plenty of true, bright stories might be written. Our dear 
little baby was so distressed when Nellie's Christmas Eve 
was read to her, and she begged so hard that 'Father would 
send Little Nell enough money to go to heaven and see her 
mamma,' that the mother was compelled to prohibit the book. 
"Little Miss Muffet" has caused many a hole to be torn in 
Mother Goose, because, "If you don't kill him, mother, she can't 
cat her supper." Older little folks have suffered no less from 
books. Few children have read Robinson Crusoe, or Gulliver's 
Travels without making Crusoe and Gulliver realities; and 
some at the age of seven have started out to be Crusoes. 
Others have begged to go to Lilliput, Brobdignag or Hony- 


hnhnm. One whom I knew, really suffered from taking a single 
sentence of Gulliver literally. A few days after the book had 
been read, the child was seen in the yard crying violently, as 
she tried in vain to make her colt use his fore-feet as hands. 
"Why, father, he is a real Houyhnhnm; please make him do 
some of the things that his race do." Soon after this distress, 
she did not even look up when a question was asked her by the 
teacher. At length she exclaimed : "You will always have to 
flap me on the mouth when you speak to me, for lately I have 
been so lost in my cogitations that I never hear when any one 
speaks." In the same class she w T as asked who had done more 
for his country than any one else. She instantly replied, with- 
out a flap : " My father, for the King of Brobdignag says, ' Who- 
ever can make two ears of corn grow upon a spot of ground 
where one was before, is worth more than the whole race of poli- 
ticians put together.' And last year, when father was having 
his corn shucked, I found two little ears in one shuck." The 
loving father having noticed for some weeks a sad expression on 
his daughter's face, inquired the reason. "Oh! father," she said, 
as she sobbed out the secret, "I am sure I am a struldbrug, and 
what shall I do when you and mother and every one I love are 
dead? I shall get so tired living. Look over my left eyebrow 
and you will see the little red spot that is the sign." In vain 
were the efforts of the father to dispel such a thought from the 
childish heart. She lived on in the firm conviction that she was 
destined to live forever. The father concluded that though he 
could not remedy the sad state of his daughter, he might save 
the child of another parent from such distress. Consequently, 
he wrote an article for a magazine, relating the fate of his daugh- 
ter, and imploring that Gulliver's Travels should not be allowed 
in any nursery. 

Let the grown people suffer as they may, they ought to have 
some common sense. But why not make the nursery pleasant 
with true and bright stories ? 



Modern newspapers may be said to have grown out of some 
very early enterprises. After printing had made communication 
easy, each nation recognized the need of the people for more gen- 
eral knowledge of what was passing. Accordingly she estab- 
lished a newspaper and at last the institution became universal. 
These papers differed greatly from those of our day. They 
usually consisted of two small sheets, containing very little. A 
few advertisements, an act or so of Parliament, or of* the ruling 
body of the country, two or three anecdotes, composed a paper. 
Such a thing; now would be considered unworthy of its title. 
At that time the printing was more expensive, so that the price 
of the newspaper was high. This prevented wide circulation. 
The steam-press so lowered the prices that all the world was able 
to learn what was passing at home and abroad. 

The privileges of newspapers have been variously restricted 
in different countries, and many a hard fight has been fought for 
a free press. In England the question was whether it should be 
allowed to report the speeches of Parliament. At last the day 
was won, the papers came off victorious. In France a law was 
several times passed forbidding any interference by the newspa- 
pers in politics. This was afterwards repealed, but in Russia 
the journals still have few liberties. In America the power of 
the press is altogether unlimited and its liberty too often be- 
comes license. 

What we should do without newspapers, I cannot imagine. 
No one would ever know what was going on in the world. If 
England telegraphed that Queen Victoria was dead, some time 
would elapse before any but the telegraph operators and their 
familiar friends would be any the wiser for it. How would 
people sell their goods? In fact, how would anything be done? 
In politics the press is all-powerful. Farmers living in the 
country and having few opportunities to see what is going on in 
the city, are enabled to vote well and wisely by reading the 

16 ST. MARY' 8 MUSE. 

papers, which set forth fully the state of affairs and the various 
opinions. From the same source the ruler of a country learns 
much. He has the minds of the people set before him, all their 
desires in regard to the government, with their opinions upon 
the management and actions of the different governors, himself 

At all times it is pleasant to spend one's leisure moments over 
the paper. Business men, who can find no other time, indulge 
in the pleasure at breakfast, reading aloud to the assembled fam- 
ily the important, pathetic, or comic passages, so that all have 
the benefit thereof. Children are not often much attracted by 
newspapers. They see only the dry and uninteresting adver- 
tisements and do not know how to pick the kernel from its hull. 

As I have already said, newspapers are very different things 
from what they were on their first appearance. The best of 
authors have been their contributors, and thus the style of some 
journals has become a model in the literature of their country. 
In England, the Spectator made itself famous under the guid- 
ance of Addison, and the Taller won a proud place. At the 
present day the Daily News, the Standard, and the Saturday 
Review hold high rank in the same country. The Daily News, 
which is an example of newspaper enterprise, is remarkable for 
its fine foreign correspondence. It sends out the best of con- 
tributors to all the different countries. The Saturday Review 
is famous for its wit and spiciness, while the Standard is the 
great Tory paper, whose politics, whatever the times may be, are 
always the same. The great paper of England is The Times, 
which, from a very humble beginning, has increased until its 
circulation is unparalleled among English papers. It is remark- 
able for its independence in politics. Its name came from the 
fact that, unlike the Standard, its politics vary with every 
change of the government. Figaro, though more modern than 
some other papers of France, is foremost among her journals ; 
that is to say, its circulation is greater than that of any other. 
But the paper of greatest political value in France is the Jour- 
nal des D^bats. It holds somewhat the same place as the Times 


in England. Its politics also resemble those of the Times, in 
that they are like the weather-cock and change with every wind. 
The leaders among American papers are the Herald, the Tribune 
and the World. The Herald, owned by James Gordon Bennett, 
is a paper of great enterprise, whose circulation is larger than that 
of any other in the United States. It has managed to make a good 
deal of money, and much of this has been expended for scientific 
purposes. It assisted greatly in the Arctic expeditions and Stan- 
ley was first sent out on his African explorations by the Herald. 
The Tribune was founded by Horace Greeley. One can 
scarcely imagine how much this paper contains. Twelve large 
pages are daily filled with every imaginable kind of news, 
foreign, domestic, naval, local, and religious; politics, war-cor- 
respondence, art-notes, lectures, tales, and last but not least, 
advertisements of all sorts, kinds, and descriptions. The art- 
notes are considered the best criticisms of the kind to be found. 
William Winter, the music critic, is one of its art-staff. He 
goes to all the great musical entertainments, of which he writes 
most interesting accounts. Another contributor to the Tribune, 
whose articles are interesting, is George Smalley, who writes from 
London, giving the best opinions of English polities, together 
with a good deal of pleasant chit-chat. In discussing tariff, 
the Tribune has taken an important part. Being a Republican 
paper, it has held up strongly the high tariff side. One of its 
correspondents, Robert Porter, was sent over to England not 
long since, to examine into the condition of the working classes. 
He went from place to place, looking at the houses of the work- 
men and inquiring about their wages. He then sent back the 
most pathetic letters describing their miserable condition. The 
Tribune printed these letters, using the argument that if the 
workmen in England, a free-trade country, were in such a state, 
ours would be reduced to the same condition if we adopted free- 
trade; also, that if free-trade were established in America, we 
should then buy foreign goods, which are so much cheaper on 
account of the low wages of English workmen, while our own 
manufactures would remain unsold and our poor starve for want 


of something to do. In tin's way the Tribune fought for its side, 
and thus far has proved a powerful agent for high-tariff. On 
the other hand, the World is a strong partisan of the Demo- 
cratic party, and therefore of free-trade. It argues that it is just 
as well to be made poor by low wages as to be made so by taxes 
on every imported thing. Besides, if people were not obliged to 
pay so high prices for things they would have more to give. 
Also, if England's manufactures are not ruined by free-trade, 
why should ours be? 

The tone and contents of papers vary according to the places 
in which they are published. Thus a Paris paper would be apt 
to contain much about the fashions, the theatres, the balls, and 
other gayeties of that gayest of gay cities. A Leipsig journal would 
contain many musical records ; and so with others. And news- 
papers not only show the character of their own particular city, 
but also that of their country. The Tribune and the Herald are 
most thoroughly American and the Times shows the English 
peculiarities. Many of the principal German papers are illus- 
trated, which adds greatly to their charms for everything is 
rendered more interesting and striking by representation to the 

The kinds of news treated of by different papers are various. 
Some journals are given up almost entirely to daily events. 
Others are more devoted to discussions, arguments, and comments 
on events. A paper not given up to any one subject, as art or 
politics, but containing miscellaneous news, is much more inter- 
esting than one which treats of only one subject. Reviews, such 
as that we have mentioned, approach more nearly the character 
of magazines. They are usually weeklies, indulge more in dis- 
cussion and criticism than the dailies, and are somewhat abstract 
in their topics. Harper's Weekly, and the English Graphic, and 
Daily News are important exceptions to this rule. They are 
noted for their lack of the above-mentioned characteristics and 
for their capital illustrations; Harper's best illustrations are comic 
ones called forth by politics. Of all comic papers Punch takes 
the lead, the Detroit Free Press and others following far behind. 


Newspapers are not at all scrupulous, but follow Solon's 
motto, " The affair of one is the concern of all." And a very 
good motto it is. For however disagreeable and intrusive too 
much gossip and curiosity may be, a reasonable amount of them 
is necessary if we wish to make our way in the world. A neivs- 
paper containing no gossip, showing no curiosity, would be a 
very lame affair, if any sort of affair at all. 

Among the most prominent topics in the papers is that of 
crime. The list of evil deeds is a long and dreadful one, and 
the journals seem to tafce delight in giving the fullest accounts 
of all that is horrible. Were a murder to happen at midnight 
the morning paper would appear with a detailed description, 
every particular, even to the color of the murderer's eyes. 
Marriage and death come next on the programme, and even the 
smallest village or school papers cannot refrain from dabbling 
a little in "Foreign News." But much the greater part of 
many papers is taken up with advertisements. Pages are cov- 
ered with "Wanted," " Lost," etc., calling to mind Tom Pinch's 
remark. "It really seems as if people had the same gratifica- 
tion in printing their complaints as in making them by word of 
mouth ; as if they found it a comfort and a consolation to pro- 
claim, 'I want such and such a thing and I can't get it, and I 
do not expect I ever shall.' Equally useless to most are the 
beautiful pictures of "Durham Bulls," tobacco advertisements, 
lovely young girls who "owe their restoration to health and 
beauty to the Cuticura Remedies," and others of the long- 
list of advertisements. Whoever saw any one induced to buy 
Ivory Soap by seeing a group of miserable rats floating off on a 
cake of it after a flood? or Pear's bv learning that Jumbo was 
being washed white with it? Advertisements are getting so plen- 
teous at present that they are embodied in nice stories or little 
poems which end by telling you to buy "Hop Bitters" or some- 
thing of the kind. 

Sometimes when the editor of a journal cannot find enough 
to fill his pages he invents some tale for the purpose. One fine 
morning the Herald appeared with the following announcement: 


"Horrible Accident! The Wild Beasts of Central Park Are 
Loose!" Column after column graphically described the havoc 
the creatures were making, and the horrors that were raging. 
The whole city was alarmed. Every one was strictly enjoined 
to stay within doors, and every one was on the lookout for the 
wild beasts. But none appeared. Naturally people felt, although 
relieved, a little crest-fallen and cheap on perceiving, at the bot- 
tom of the article, one line, in diamond print, "This is all a 
hoax!" Again, last spring the New York Tribune appeared 
with a one column letter from Mr. Arnold, full of sharp criti- 
cisms on the country and people that he had just visited. The 
Chicago Tribune, not to be beaten, enlarged and published the 
letter as from its own foreign correspondent. The people became 
very angry and the papers were filled with bitter things against 
Mr. Arnold, supposed to be Matthew. This mountain was made 
from the small-sized mole-hill raised by the New York Tribune. 
The moral of which is that small lies often lead to serious con- 
sequences, while large ones are usually so apparent as to produce 
no effect. A most remarkable hoax appeared in the Raleigh 
News and Observer a year ago, concerning a little girl who had 
been wafted away by the merry breezes of Morehead in conjunc- 
tion with a string of balloons, to an island some distance off. 
The article at the end kindly relieved the wrought-up minds of 
readers by informing them that the story was a cheat. 

Newspaper stories are almost always absurd nonsense, and not 
fit to be read. There are some exceptions to the rule, but, as the 
exceptions prove the rule, it would be a good thing if the stories 
were omitted, although those papers which contain nothing else 
would suffer. 

Every rose has its thorn, and newspapers have more than one. 
In many ways they work evil instead of good. Each of the 
different departments has its drawbacks. The severe criticisms 
passed on authors and artists are often so cutting as to nip all 
hopes of the aspirant to fame in the bud. Some lights which 
might have shone in the future of literature or art are thus, per- 
haps, put out. Again, when the critics give undue praise to a 


work which they have not yet well read, they wrong society by 
admitting an unworthy member to the rank of good writers. 
In politics much ill-feeling is kept up between the parties by 
means of the papers. In Avar the enemy is enabled to find out 
all his adversary's plans by means of them. This is strikingly 
shown by the present war in Egypt. The English are of course 
highly interested in the events there. Full accounts are daily 
published by the papers of all Gordon's plans and proceedings, 
so far as known. The Mahdi himself is said to be in receipt of 
these papers. He thus learns with ease what, otherwise, he 
might not discover with time and labor. Hitherto the English 
have had most perfect war accounts. During the Russian- 
Turkish war the work of the reporters was something remark- 
able. The most thrillino; details were sent home. Now the 
people will either have to give up their former privilege, and 
the newspapers an important department, or the enemy will con- 
stantly be aware of Gordon's movements. 

Taking them as a whole, however, newspapers are blessings. 
If they sometimes misjudge, they also do good service by bring- 
ing forward promising writers and artists, and driving back poor 
ones. If they are sometimes unjust and wrong in their political 
ardor, they also rouse the people's interest in public affairs. If 
they do a little too much thinking for the people they also give 
plenty of material for thought. 

Newspapers are to us as spectacles to a near-sighted person. 
Sometimes the image presented by the glasses is distorted, some- 
times the glasses themselves are soiled, and need cleaning, and 
sometimes they are even cracked. But however poor the glasses 
may be, they still bring the objects nearer and render them 


When gloomy November is upon us with its foggy days and 
lowering skies, it may seem amiss to speak of balmy April 
weather. But mayhap it will encourage some of us to take a 
glimpse at the bright days to come after the dreary winter is 


over. To think of sunny April, all smiles and tears, and of 

"April showers, 
Which bring May flowers." 

Nor is this all. After the long winter of waiting, April will 
have fair flowers to give us. By the side of the woodland path 
we shall find tiny blue and white anemones, "bright eyes," as 
the children call them; and better yet, the ground will be cov- 
ered with wild violets, making it look like a purple carpet — a 
beautiful carpet — which even the fairies would walk upon; 
and who knows but that the tiny sprites have often trodden the 
blue blossoms? 

Of these wild violets there are many species. First, the 
" Crowfoot/' as it is generally called. Its peculiar title explains 
itself, and, indeed, one would imagine that a tiny baby-crow had 
fallen from its nest into an artist's blue paint, and then had 
stepped over the world leaving blue foot-prints. "Crowfoots" 
are the largest of wild violets, and vary in shade from almost 
white to a deep blue. 

Another, "the dog violet," is rather like the sweet violet, but 
is larger, of a coarser purple, and without odor. In another 
way it differs from that violet, for as the sweet violet seems ever 
endeavoring to screen herself beneath her own green leaves, the 
dog violet lifts her head above hers, as though their use were to 
set off her beauty. 

There is also one about the size of the sweet violet, of a pale 
blue, and with a sweet, forest fragrance of its own. This violet 
is generally found rising from a bed of fine needles, making a 
miniature oasis in a miniature Sahara. 

White violets are not much sought after. Why, I wonder? 
for they are quite pretty, and being nearly the size of the culti- 
vated blossom, they seem the blue violets decked in pure white, 
for a wedding. But if white violets have been slighted in our 
gardens, they have not been sneered at among the poets. The 
sweet child-poet, Elaine Goodale, speaks of the little flower as 

" White as milk with perfume laden, 
Purple-veined and golden-eyed." 


And now we come to our old-time favorite, the dear modest 
little blossom which has ever been loved. It is known too well 
for description and all can have the flower on account of the 
small difficulty in cultivation. 

" Violets, violets, sweet March violets, 
Sure as March conies they'll come too, 
First the white, and then the blue, 
Pretty violets." 

Ever since its life began, this blossom has been made the sub- 
ject of songs and poems. Moore sings soothingly, 

" Hath the pearl less whiteness 
Because of its birth ? 
Hath the violet less brightness 
For growing near earth ?" 

But another poet sneers at the modest little flower in the lines in 
which he contemptuously asks it, 

"What are you when the rose is blown?" 

Just what it has ever been, sir critic; not a brilliant "queen of 
flowers," but the pretty blue "queen of secrecy." 

If violets grow vain by the praises of poets, this vanity must 
often be sadly taken down by those mistaken people whose idea 
of poetry is to jangle together some lines about hair, fair, rare, 
etc. These too frequently turn their attention to the violet, call- 

ing it 

"The flower blue 
Of royal hue." 

I should think the flower would hide its head in shame under 
its leaves. Why do these same individuals always compare the 
violets to the washed-out blue eyes of their lady-love? And I 
wonder how the flower relishes having the colored porter on the 

train bawl out, 

" Sweet violet, 
Sweeter than all the roses." 

Double violets are the loveliest of all kinds, but the most diffi- 
cult to raise. Very beautiful they look in the hot-house beds, 
fragrant blue and white flowers. But when one buys them, and 


they are taken from their native soil, they yield an average of 
one blossom a year. They are very fragrant, with a more deli- 
cious odor than that of the single flower. Shakespeare might 
well have sung of them, 

" Violets dim, 
Bat sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes." 

Only I doubt if there were any of the double varieties in Shake- 
speare's time, since they are a comparatively late production. 
The song must have been meant for the single flower. 

But enough has been said of April and her violets. If we 
look so far ahead as this may we not also see pretty May, as she 
comes dancing in, crowned with trailing arbutus, saying in her 
merry voice, "Take away April's violets, that I may have room 
for my buttercups and daisies." 


The time of song for me is the last of autumn, the last days 
of the year which die in the fogs and in the melancholy of the 
winds. Nature, harsh and cold, then throws us back upon our- 
selves. It is the twilight of the year. It is the time when out- 
door work ceases, but that of the mind never ceases; you must 
employ in something that superfluous force which would become 
a devouring melancholy, a madness, if you did not vent it in 
prose or in verse. Blessed be he who invented writing, that 
intercourse of man with his own thoughts, that means of light- 
ening the burden of his soul. 

At this time of the year, I rise long before daylight. Five 
o'clock in the morning has not harshly sounded by the clock in 
the steeple which overlooks my garden before I have left my 
bed, tired of dreams, relit my brass lamp, and the little fire of 
vine-branches which has to warm my evening watch in this little 
tower, silent and isolated as a chamber of death where life yet 


enters. I open my window, take a few steps upon the worm- 
eaten wooden balcony and look towards the heavens and the 
dark outline of the mountains, which traces itself clearly and 
sharply upon the pale blue of a winter sky, or hides its sharpest 
points in a heavy mass of fogs; when there is wind, I see the 
clouds pass over the last stars, that sparkle and disappear by 
turns as those pearls of the sea that the waves cover and uncover 
in their undulations. The black, bare branches of the walnut 
tree in the cemetery moan and writhe under the tempest, and 
the dreary storm gathers the heaps of dead leaves and rolls them 
to the foot of the tower, where they rustle, and murmur like 

At such a sight, at such an hour, in such a silence, surrounded 
by the sympathy of nature, among the hills where we have 
grown up and where we are to grow old, only ten steps from the 
tomb where rest, awaiting us, all those whom we have most 
mourned on earth, is it possible that the soul which awakens and 
yields itself to the influences around it should not tremble into 
harmony with the perfect confidence of sky and mountains, of 
the stars and the meadows, the wind and the trees, and that a 
quick and bounding thought should not leap from the heart to 
mount to the stars and from the stars to mount to God"? I feel 
myself in union with all about me; a sigh brings me back to all 
that I have known, loved, and lost in this house and elsewhere; 
a hope strong and evident as is providence in nature, carries me 
to the bosom of God, where all is found again; a sadness and 
a rapture mingle in the words that I speak aloud, without fear 
that any one may hear them, except the wind which bears them 
to God. The chill of morning strikes me, my steps crackle 
upon the hoarfrost and I close my window and enter my tower 
where the kindling fagot snaps and where .my dog awaits me. 

What is there to do then, my dear friend, during the three or 
four long hours of silence, which in November have to pass be- 
tween the early dawn and sunrise? All in the house and in 
the yard are asleep. Occasionally you may hear a cock, deceived 

by the light of a star, utter a cry which he- does not finish and 



which he seems to repent of; or a bull, asleep and dreaming in the 
stable, give a sonorous bellow which awakens most suddenly the 
herdsman. You are certain that no domestic affair, no persistent 
visitor, no business of the day, will surprise yon for two or three 
hours, and distract your thoughts. You are calm and confident 
in your leisure, for the day is for man, but the night is only for 

This feeling of complete security is of itself a delight, and I 
revel in it for an instant. Then I walk back and forth on the 
flags of my small room, looking at one or two of the pictures on 
the wall, portraits a thousand times better painted in my mem- 
ory. I speak to them, I speak to my dog, who follows with an 
intelligent, anxious eye all my movements of thought and body. 
Sometimes I fall on my knees before one of those dear memen- 
toes of the dead past. Oftener as I walk I lift up my soul to the 
Creator in some fragment of prayer which my mother taught 
me in my infancy, and some badly-formed verses from those 
psalms of the holy Hebrew poet which I have heard sung in 
the Cathedrals, and which return now and then to cay memory 
as the scattered notes of a forgotten air. 

My prayer said (and should not everything begin and end 
with prayer?), I seat myself near the old oak table where my 
father and my grandfather used to sit. It is covered with books 
well used by them and by me; their old Bible, a large Petrarch 
in quarto (edition of Venice in two enormous volumes, where his 
Latin and his political works, his Philosophies, his Africa, fill 
two thousand pages, and his immortal sonnets, seven — a striking 
example of the vanity and uncertainty of the work of man, who 
passes his life in raising an immense monument to his memory, 
of which posterity preserves only one little stone, for his glory 
and immortality); a Homer, a Virgil, a volume of Cicero's let- 
ters, a volume of selections from Goethe and Byron, — all philoso- 
phers or poets, — and a small volume of the Imitation of Christ, 
a philosophical breviarv, one of my pious mother's, which shows 
yet traces of her fingers, sometimes of her tears, and often of her 
notes, and which contains alone more philosophy and poetry 


than all the philosophers and poets. In the middle of these 
dusty and scattered volumes, are some leaves of fair white paper, 
pencils, and pens, which invite me to draw and to write. 

With my elbow resting on the table, and my head upon my 
hand, my heart swelling with feeling and recollections, my mind 
crowded with shadowy images, every sense in repose or sadly 
lulled to quiet by the whispers of the forest that ring and die 
away against my window-pane, I abandon myself to my dreams, 
impressed and thoughtful. I turn my pencil carelessly in my 
hand, drawing upon a white page fantastic images of trees or of 
ships; the movement of my thought is arrested as is the water 
in the bed of a too full river; images and sentiments accumulate 
and demand to escape under one form or another. Then I say 
to myself, "Write." As I do not know how to write in prose 
for want of habit, I write some verses. A few hours pass sweetly 
as I pour out upon paper, in those measures that mark the 
cadence and the movement of the soul, the sentiments, the ideas, 
the recollections, the sadness, the impressions, of which I am full. 
I reread several times to myself these harmonious confidences of 
my own day-dream. Usually I leave my verses unfinished and 
I tear them up after they are written. They belong only to me, 
they should not be read by others. They may not be the least 
poetic of my poems, but what does it signify"? Of all that a 
man experiences and thinks, are not the secrets that he speaks 
to love, or the prayers which he addresses in a low voice to God, 
the mightiest, the most sacred? Does he write them? Xo, 
surely no. The eye or the ear of man would profane them. 
That which is sacred is kept forever in our heart. 

Yet some of these morning poems have been finished. They 
are those that you know : Meditation, Harmonies, Jocelyn, and 
these without any name, which I send you. You know how I 
wrote them, how I value them at their lowest; you know how 
incapable I am of that hard task, acting critic towards oneself. 
Blame me, but do not judge me, and in return for too much 
giving up and weakness, give me too much mercy and indulgence. 

The hours that I can give thus to these drops of poetry, 


true clew of the autumn mornings, are not long. The village 
clock soon sounds the An gel us of the dawn. We hear the clat- 
ter of the wooden shoes of the peasants along the stony paths 
which go up to the church or to the Castle, the cry of the flocks, 
the barking of the shepherd dogs, and the sharp jilting plough- 
wheels upon the ground frozen during the night. The bustle of 
the day begins around me and it seizes and engrosses me until 
evening. The workmen mount my wooden stairs to ask me to 
plan their work for the day, the cure comes to solicit aid for his 
sick or his schools, the mayor to beg me to explain to them the 
confused text of a new law upon the neighboring roads, a law 
that I have made and that I do not understand any better than 
he. Some neighbors summon me to come with them to lay out 
a route or bound a heritage; my vineyard laborers come to me 
to tell me that the harvest has failed and that they have but one 
or two sacks of rye on which to feed their wives and five chil- 
dren during a long winter. The postman arrives loaded with 
papers and letters which fail like a rain of words upon my table; 
words sometimes sweet, sometimes bitter, more often indifferent; 
but all of which require a thought, a word, a line. My guests, 
if I have any, awake and move about in the house. Others arrive 
and tie their tired horses to the iron bars of the lower windows. 
These are the farmers of our mountains in black velvet vests 
and leather gaiters, mayors of neighboring villages, and good 
old white-haired cur6s, some poor widows from the neighbor- 
ing villages who wish for appointments as post- mistresses and 
who believe that a man spoken of in the metropolitan newspa- 
pers is all-powerful. These stand back in the rear under the 
linden trees of the avenue holding two or three poor children by 
the hand. Each has his care, his dream, his affair. You must 
listen to them, shake hands with one, write a note for another, 
give some hope to each. All this is done at the corner of the 
table filled with verses, prose, and letters, while breaking a piece 
of bread made out of fragrant mountain rye seasoned with 
fresh butter, fruit from the garden, or a bunch of grapes from 
the vineyard, frugal breakfast of the poet and the laborer, for 
whose crumbs the birds wait upon my balcony. 


Midday sounds. I hear my horse neigh caressingly and paw 
the sand of the court as if he were calling for me. I say good- 
morning and good-bye to those guests in the house who are to 
remain until evening, mount my horse and depart, leaving be- 
hind me all the thoughts of the morning as I go to other cares 
of the day. I make my way to the unfrequented paths of our 
valleys, I climb one mountain and descend it to climb another, 
I tie my horse to more than one tree and knock at more than 
one door. I again find here and there a thousand things to 
attend to for myself and others, and I do not set home until 
night, after having enjoyed during six or seven hours of travel 
along the solitary roads, all the sunlight, all the tints of the 
golden leaves, all the fragrance, all the sounds gay or sad, be- 
longing to our country in autumn. I am happy if on return- 
ing;, worn out with fatigue, I find by chance at my fireside, 
some friend who has arrived during my absence, some friend of 
simple heart and a poetic turn, who in going to Italy or Switz- 
erland has remembered that my home is near his route. 

See here, my dear friend, the best part of life for me. May 
God give me many such days. Blessed be His name for their 
mercies. But these days pass as rapidly awtiy as the autumn 
suns that shine between two fogs, gilding the purple tops of the 
young poplars of our meadows. 


" A day in the swamp !" you say with disgust. "Ladies actu- 
ally "pick nicking" with snakes and lizards! What a dearth of 
society there must be in those parts!" 

" But for a' that and a' that, 
The dav was a dav for a' that" 

and far from being ashamed of it, we are going to tell you all 
"about our swamp visit, and, if possible, make you admit that 
you too might have enjoyed it. 


Now this is the way it came about. One morning, amuse- 
ment being rather run aground, the household in general was 
lounging about the hall and library with no plans for the day. 
Presently my uncle, the master of the plantation, stepped in from 
his daily round of duties, and declared with a very wry face 
that it was hard for him to spend the whole day in the swamp 
looking after the stock, while we had only to amuse ourselves. 
"Tell you what," as though a bright thought had struck him, 
" Come along, the whole lot of you, and we'll spend a jolly good 
day among the pigs and cows. What say you? Get your sun- 
hats and come on, the horses will be here directly. For you," 
he added, turning to the young men of our number, "you may 
saddle your own horses and follow us, or stay at home, just as 
you like"; and off' he marched to be sure that the horses were all 
right. As we were neither to trouble about our complexions, 
because there was plenty of shade, nor take any lunch, because 
we could not eat it on the damp ground, we had so little getting 
ready to do that in a few minutes we were on our horses. So 
we set out, each one bearing behind his or her saddle a great 
white wallet full of corn. 

The swamp in*which our day was to be passed, and which, 
by the way is Pee Dee, one of South Carolina's largest, appeared 
as a vast jungle from the back of the house. I had often gazed 
on its dark outline towards nightfall and wondered how many 
dreadful things were going on there, though one could not well 
see how any living being could get through so dense a growth. 

While we have thus remarked on the swamp, our steeds have 
not been idle but have been speeding us through vast cotton- 
fields, by tall tasseled corn stalks; the soil has grown darker, 
and now our horses are trying to nip off the mischievous heads 
of waving rice, which tickle their flanks. The rice field is full 
of negroes and, as they scatter the great black clods with their 
big feet or pound them with their grubbing hoes, their voices 
whistle in a full rich chorus. There is none of that melancholy 
wail in the music which characterizes the darky's Sunday songs. 
As we wound along through the rice, these words were wafted 
to us, sonorously lined out by the leader to his choir: 


" When de sea commence ter burnin, 
De rock commence ter melt, 
En de moon drip away in blood. 
Oh sinners! whay will ver stan ?" 

And immediately after a gay young sport began dancing in 
front of an ebony belle and singing merrily: 

" My gal ! my gal ! I'm comin fer ter see, 
Case 1'se nothin better fer ter do ; 
She ken dance, she ken sing, 
She ken cut the de pigen whing, 
But she can't get away wid me!" 

And cutting a very funny caper, he seized the girl and 
smacked her heartily, escaping just in time to ward off with 
his hoe the laughing but vigorous blow which she aimed at him. 
We heard snatches of manv other songs for the singers never 
seemed to know more than four or five lines of each. Thus 
while riding through the field, a distance of about three-quarters 
of a mile, we heard, "Bin home en tell Aunt Judy," "Oh 
shepherd whay wus you?" "Way down yonder in de cane- 
brake," "My ole Massa promus me," and various others. 

At last we came to the swamp. The trees were not so thick 
as they seemed at a distance, but the land was very well tim- 
bered. A narrow winding cow T -track was our only entrance, 
and into this we turned our horses' heads. As we advanced, the 
land behind seemed fast rising and closing us in, while ahead it 
was ever sinking. It gave one decidedly the feeling of going 
down, down, where lie would be wedged in tight on all sides. 
Both this appearance and feeling vanished when we reached the 
swamp level. The way was literally flecked with dainty white 
buccoou flowers, that bent their slender heads as if making love 
to the bright buttercups and daisies at their feet. I at first 
begged for every one of the beautiful little blossoms, but was 
persuaded to wait until we came to a place where I could pick a 
whole hat-full at once. Now my attention was constantly dis- 
tracted from the beauties of the way, by a rushing, whizzing 
noise through the bushes. It was so sudden and so unexpected, 


that every time it came I almost started from my saddle, and 
to hide my fear I remarked very naively that ground sparrows 
must be very abundant from the amount of fuss they made. 
There was a general titter, and the bad boy of the party, who 
had been secretly enjoying my capers, observed in the most non- 
chalant manner, "Oh, I forgot to tell you ladies not to mind any 
little bush rattlings. It is only the snakes and lizzards. Just 
take care of those long skirts or you may rake up some of the 
creatures." We nervously clutched the offending skirts and 
fixed our horrified gaze on the ground, paying no attention to 
our informer's remark that, "That was all safe now and we 
must not let small matters bother us." Our fun would have 
been gone had not the bad boy's father assured us that snakes 
did not abide in the path, as they had too much respect for their 

We halted before three huge mounds and a quaint bricked-up 
tomb where, to divert our thoughts from the snakes, our 
kind escort began to tell us that the eminences were gener- 
ally believed to be the work of the mound-builders. "How 
these isolated traces of them came here we do not know," said 
he, "I have made various projects for getting into them, but 
here they are, and here they will remain for, as you see, they are 
miniature mountains." Then he climbed up to the top of one of 
the mounds and showed us where he used to dig for the treasure 
which the negroes said his grand father had buried there. And 
he told us how the negroes dread the place and won't go near it, 
because they say that when the moon shines at midnight, fiery 
serpents hiss around the little graves at the side of the mounds, 
demons and witches dance over it damning and reviling the 
souls of sleepers; and where the red men's skulls gleam white 
about the mounds, grim skeletons rise and cry for vengeance on 
the "pale face." Certainly this is only superstition, but that the 
grave holds a man's bones there is no doubt. Tradition says 
that years ago two runaway slaves, hearing through the night 
the piteous and heart-rending howls of a dog, were so wrought 
upon that they traced the sounds to these mounds. There in a 


new made grave, lay the haggard corpse of a murdered man ; on 
his breast a beautiful little brown setter kept watch. All 
attempts to entice this faithful guard from his post were fruit- 
less. The negroes were so much impressed that they went home 
to tell the marvellous story. Men sought for the place but, as 
the slaves had lost all traces of it in wandering out, it was not 
found; consequently the tale was looked upon as a clever device 
for escaping punishment. However it was firmly adhered to 
and diligently circulated about the plantation with many varia- 
tions and additions. Years after, when much of the swamp had 
been reclaimed and paths made through the wilderness, both the 
mounds and the grave with its two skeletons — the one of a man, 
the other of a dog — came to light. "And here," said the. nar- 
rator, "they remain, a constant source of wild conjecture and 
imagination. Sometime in this, the golden age of engineering, 
we may uncover these mounds, but the secret of the grave, who 
can unlock? 

With silent tongues but busy imaginations we wound down 
the grassy path, out of sight of mounds and graves. Gradually 
the foliage took on a darker green; the vegetation became richer 
and, if possible, more luxuriant; all dryness passed away from the 
soil and our horses were treading on a mossy black mold which 
gave to their feet like a soft carpet. Around us rose the stately 
poplars with their broad square leaves and variegated flowers. 
Climbing up to these and trying to overcap them, as it were, rose 
the bays, whose lighter green and fragrant, magnolia-like blos- 
soms formed a pleasing contrast to the poplars, and gave a happy 
effect of light and shade. Underneath, and sheltered from all 
harm, the wild currant spread itself in profuse magnificence, the 
luscious fruit, ripe and red, under which the bushes seemed to 
groan, was too tempting to be resisted. So down we got, forget- 
ting all about snakes, damp ground, and other evil things. Over 
the mossy sod we bounded, dyeing our lips and hands with the 
crimson berries, rifling the forest of its spotless mantle of buccoon 
flowers, and doing much damage to its rare growth of ferns. 
Before taking saddle again we found some of those delicious lit- 


tie swamp-apples called papaws. They have light, golden 
skins and taste like bananas. Then we found quantities of buck- 
eyes, which were such great curiosities to me that I must needs 
have the saddle-bags filled with them. Buck-eyes are about the 
size of pigeon-eggs and grow on very low, round-topped bushes. 
They have a tough, leathery covering which opens when the fruit 
is ripe, leaving the dark-brown, polished berry hanging like a 
nutmeg in its mace. Wandering further into the woods, we 
found the trees festooned with heavily-laden grape-vines. We 
shook down a little green snake, which proved more effectual 
than all entreaties in getting us to horse again. At last we were 
going once more. We passed many fallen trees, far larger than 
any of the present growth. Decay was fast bearing away these 
remnants of the past. Sweet messengers had the old tyrant sent 
to do his work, little blue-eyed innocents and delicate-fingered 
ferns, which gently tore the fibers from the aged giants. We 
surprised several companies of rabbits engaged in one of their 
most remarkable dances; but they always kept their long ears 
so well pricked up that when we got to the frolic, we never saw 
anything but the tip-ends of their white tails and those at a dis- 
tance. Suddenly we were again startled by a steady, grinding, 
crushing sound, going on all around. Our leader kept straight 
ahead; the path was too narrow to turn, so thinking of the 
immortal Six Hundred, I rode on. Casting my forlorn eyes 
about, I saw no longer the beautiful poplars and bays, but tall 
oak and hickory trees. The ground was hidden by acorns and 
hickory nuts; you could hardly move for them, they tumbled on 
your head and cracked under your horse's hoofs at every step. 
The numerous squirrels were busily engaged in putting up their 
winter stores and taking, I suppose, a little refreshment between 
times, for occasionally we heard a scraping sound in the top of a 
high tree and the next instant saw a squirrel nimbly swing him- 
self over to the next tree where the same noise at once began. 
But we had not yet found out the cause of the heavy grind when 
we discovered a huge boar lying contentedly in a little pool of 
water and lazily munching the acorns and nuts around him. At 


sight of us he bounded off with a great guff! guff! This fero- 
cious beast had almost frightened us to death; but when our 
lender, without any warning, took the corn from his wallet and 
began to scatter it around, at the same time making the woods 
ring with " Geep, — goop, — Geep-e-e, — goop-e-e, what was our 
horror to see a perfect regiment of hogs rush through the bushes 
in every direction and make straight for us! Had the path beeu 
wide enough I am sure we ladies would have turned and fled; 
but as it was not, we clutched our riding-skirts and waited the 
onset in breathless fear. On they trooped in and out among the 
horses, biting one another and tumbling about in their greedy 
struggle for the corn. When they had eaten it all up they poked 
their snouts out so slily from the bushes and "goofed" at us so 
harmlessly that we lost all fear and had a fine time seeing them 
scramble for the contents of our wallets. The only rule which 
Ave noticed among these otherwise lawless swine was this, u Might 
is right." Leaving the pigs squealing and contending over the 
stray grains of corn, we kept on our way. Occasionally tink- 
ling bells brought us to large herds of cattle browsing on the 
tender herbs and grasses. The horned beasts were terrible to 
look at and once when one bellowed and tried to tear up a young 
sapling, the very earth seemed to tremble and quake. The meek 
little cows, with their soft eyes and skins, looked very lovable, 
and some of the graceful dappled calves could almost be mis- 
taken for vonng fawns. 

On the route we had passed several large well-kept canals 
which led our escort to give us a lengthv dissertation on Southern 
energy, of which I have forgotten all save the close. "Tell me 
the Southerner lacks energy!" he said, giving his horse an angry 
spur, "Why! I say he is all energy. Look at these swamps. 
Think of their system of drainage, timber-getting, and stock- 
raising, think of the vast amount of land which has been 
reclaimed and the energy which went into every stump taken 
out of it ! " 

The dark shades of night were creeping over the already 
shadowy forest. Timidly we passed through the dense cypress 


groves and by vast cane-brakes, whose gloomy depths seemed 
blacker than "Erebus itself." The night owl raised his dismal 
hoot and the mournful notes of the whip-poor-will called up 
ghosts of the past. From every nook came the wood cricket's 
shrill chirrup while from each little pool bull-frogs sent forth 
their thrilling notes. Every one breathed a sigh of relief when 
we finally emerged into the broad, open country road; and the 
bad boy, who had kept very close to his papa during the last 
half hour, uttered what we all felt, "Give me that place in the 
day; but at night deliver me." 


One who has passed through the horrors of a yellow fever 
epidemic can never forget this prince of Southern plagues. His 
most common nickname is "Yellow Jack"; but when very malig- 
nant, he is called "Bronze John." Coming from Mexico or the 
West Indies, where his giant strength being known is easily 
restrained and fettered, he invades our cities as it were with fire 
and sword, despoiling us of health, home, and friends, and 
withal so stealthily, so swiftly, few know whence he comes or 
whither he goes. Sometimes even the quarantine is a powerless 
barrier against him ; for if the highway is blockaded, he will find 
some secret path. He is a true Samson among diseases, mighty 
and terrible, yet with one weak point — he cannot withstand those 
whom he has met before and only wounded, not slain. 

Yellow fever was unknown to the Old World till the dis- 
covery of America, differing in this respect from the plague, 
cholera, measles, small-pox, and scarlatina, all which, it is 
believed, originate in Asia. It was first particularly noticed by 
the Europeans in the West Indies about 1690; but long before 
Cortez overthrew the kingdom of Montezuma, yellow fever 
had visited the Mexican table-lands, though not until afterwards 
did this strange malady spread to the Tierra Caliente. The 


South Amerisau shore was without it till the eighteenth century, 
its first appearance there being at Carthagena in 1729 and at 
Guayaquil in 1740. In 1793 the United States had its first 
experience of this epidemic Beginning with fearful fury in the 
Antilles, it made a bound for Massachusetts, and crept thence 
through New York, Pennsylvania, Maryland, Virginia, and 
North Carolina. The same year it made itself felt at Bulam, on 
the western coast of Africa, from which place it added to a host 
of other names that of "Bulam Fever." The old name, Malde 
Siam, grew out of the belief that the ship "Oriflamme" carried 
the yellow fever from Siam to Martinique; but the story is 
unfounded, since the vessel showed no signs of the disease until 
after touching at Brazil, where an epidemic was raging. 

The natural limits of yellow fever are between the parallels 
of 40 N. and 20 S. and in countries bordering on the Atlantic. 
If found north, south, east, or west of these confines, it has been 
imported. It has been domesticated at Gibraltar and Malaga. 
The intertropical Atlantic is therefore the native land of yellow 
fever; and it cannot arise solely from heat, moisture, or bad 
sanitary arrangements, else it would have been known long ago 
in Asia and Oceanica. No one denies that imperfect health reg- 
ulations add fuel to the flame, because it is positively ascertained 
that two or three cases will create an epidemic with the aid of 
decaying wood, or sea-weed mixed with fish. In 1878 a spot 
protected by the shot-gun quarantine was, by the draining of a 
pond, converted into a pest-house, so that of the first twenty-nine 
cases twenty-eight died. The little church-yard was so thickly 
set with graves that it had the appearance of a newly-ploughed 
cotton-field. This dreadful mortality was partly due to ignorant 
physicians and unacoli mated nurses; for by the time this Bronze 
John, or " Putrid Fever," the most virulent form of yellow 
fever, had. spread to the adjoining counties, good doctors and 
nurses had arrived, and only fourteen out of ninety perished. 

The presence of unusual organisms in the atmosphere of an 
epidemic authorizes the theory that these germs haye a great deal 
to do with, if not the cause, certainly the propagation of yellow 


fever. The air at the seat of the pestilence in 1878 was so 
offensive that even the flies disappeared ; whether they migrated, 
or whether they too fell victims to the evil of the times, is not 
known. Scientists have not yet discovered the primary cause of 
yellow fever, but its apparent cause may be packed away in a 
closet or trunk, in infected clothes or bedding; and though sani- 
tarians may argue that the disease springs up spontaneously from 
local unclean liness, most people think with the old farmer that 
"Yellow fever can't go, anywhere unless yer tote it." 

Since it is impossible to obtain reliable information as to the 
existence of yellow fever in the intertropical ports of America, 
our Southern cities now maintain strict quarantine| against 
them from May first to November first, so as to insure safety. 
The same precaution is also observed by the interior towns 

against New Orleans and others of our commercial marts where 

yellow fever is endemic. It costs less to keep yellow fever 

away than to cure and get rid of it. New Orleans has a popula- 
tion in round numbers of two hundred and ten thousand. A 
poll-tax of a dollar and a half a year, or the interest on six 
millions, would defray the expenses of a perfect quarantine sys- 
tem besides keeping the city free from malaria and greatly les- 
sening the rate of infant mortality. The epidemic of 1878 cost 
her ten millions of dollars, exclusive of the losses owing to inter- 
ruption of business. Memphis is in a worse condition than 
New Orleans. An expenditure of one million dollars to put 
the city in good order now, and the interest on two millions for 
the future, would protect Memphis from Yellow Jack and 
his companions. The depopulation of threatened districts has 
proved an effective measure. Within a week after Yellow Jack's 
re-appearance in 1879, thirty thousand people left Memphis. 
Of those who stayed in camps in the neighborhood, only a dozen 
or so took the disease and every case was traced to a visit to the 
city contrary to orders. It would not be worth while to attempt 
the depopulation of New Orleans and Key West, because nearly 
all the inhabitants have had Yellow Fever and the treatment is 


Of the cities that suffered during the last general epidemic, 
Grenada, Mississippi, lost most, Memphis next, and Xew 
Orleans least. This season of distress was the occasion of many 
a noble deed. Seven Sisters of the order of St. Mary went to 
nurse at Memphis and three laid down their lives. It would be. 
useless to try to recount the numberless acts of love and courage 
dune by Southern men and women, or to tell how near and dear 
our Northern brethren made themselves by their kindness and 
timely aid in boxes of food, clothing, and medicines. Even the* 
poor miner's widow sent her mite. Truly, the pity and the grat- 
itude called forth by the yellow fever have tended not a little 
towards cementing that union so long severed by pride and bit- 
terness. Also, the fear of this pestilence has given rise to sani- 
tary reforms, preventive not only of yellow fever but of all 
diseases. When the leader is slain, the army flees; so may it be 
with yellow fever. 


You will wonder, perhaps, why, with all Dickens' lovely char- 
acters, I should have chosen these two moral deformities rather 
than two of the many pure children of his fancy. Indeed, it 
would have been pleasanter to compare great-hearted Tom Pinch 
and jolly Mark Tapley, instead of gruff, sneering Jonas and 
blandly deceitful Mr. Pecksniff". And then I should have had the 
satisfaction of deciding which I liked better. As it is, however, 
I have vainly striven to make out which I dislike and despise the 
more. Both men were utterly depraved and, though their man- 
ners were decidedly different, one man was as bad as the other 
at heart. Both were steeped in deceit and crime. In all their 
dealings one can see that selfishness reigned supreme. Uncon- 
querable self-love turned aside every good quality that might 
have struggled for a small place in their hearts. And yet, I 
should not say unconquerable self-love, for neither strove to sub- 


due the ruling passion ; each fostered it by sacrificing every one, 
no matter how near he was or how dear he should have been, to 
serve a selfish end. Jonas deliberately poisoned his own father, 
the sooner to possess the money which Antony had all his life 
been hoarding for "his only son." Day by day that son watched 
with greedy eyes the decline of the old man, and he fully 
believed, until within a few hours of his own death, that he had 
murdered his father. Yet he felt no remorse, only an ever- 
haunting fear. Mr. Pecksniff was selfish in all things, both 
small and great. He was as grasping as Jonas, but less willing 
that his avarice should be known. He pretended to be very 
reluctant to give up his little "Merry." Nevertheless, he made 
sure of the marriage which committed his daughter to the care 
of a villain. 

Of both men it might be said, Gold was their God ; and truly 
they had no other. Each was willing to do anything to advance 
his worldly station. Mr. Pecksniff indeed made a point of 
imposing on every one whom he could deceive. In his treat- 
ment of old Martin Chuzzlewit, we see how his love of gain 
compelled him to sacrifice his last spark of honor, if he ever 
possessed any. He tried to poison the mind of the old man 
against his real friends, in hope of being his heir. Jonas entered 
eagerly into the Sham Insurance Company for gold, and mur- 
dered his employer. 

Mr. Pecksniff outdid Jonas in deceit. Although the capacity of 
the latter for inventing and uttering lies was great, Mr. Peck- 
sniff's talent for acting them was greater. We see this in his 
base treatment of young Martin Chuzzlewit and the "Pecksnif- 
fian" smile with which he received praise for the Grammar- 
School Plan. The way in which he cheated poor Tom Pinch, 
arouses the indignation of every one. The beneficent Mr. Peck- 
sniff was so very kind as to give a scanty education to a poor 
young man who in return paid him a reasonable sum, played the 
organ, and performed many odd jobs. And this Mr. Pecksniff 
did out of charity, taking particular pains to make the world 
think him extravagantly kind to "Thomas Pinch." The appear- 


ance of Jonas so proclaimed his deceit, that it is strange people 
should have been taken in. His sneaky walk showed him to be 
a coward, and his shrinking eyes seemed to implore one not to 
search too deeply there. 

Although these men had so many similar qualities, the author 
has drawn some delicate distinctions which show his knowledge 
»f human nature. Their manner was entirely different. Jonas 
was gruff and unpleasant, while Mr. Pecksniff was always 
blandly smiling and agreeable. Nothing could disturb his 
urbanity. Even after old Martin had knocked him down and 
left him writhing like the worm that he was, as soon as he had 
been propped up he forgave Martin with all his soul. In short, 
Mr. Pecksniff was a hypocrite. Jonas expressed his feelings just 
when he pleased, and cared no more for the opinion of one man 
than of another. He cursed many; he forgave none. 

But just as I start to say I dislike Jonas the least, I think 
of the murder that stained his soul. Yet, Mr. Pecksniff was a 
hypocrite and had the opportunity offered itself, he too might 
have been a murderer. Both men were utterly ungrateful. It 
was ingratitude which led Jonas to kill his aged father. Old 
Antony deserves praise in few respects, but he loved his son. 
Mr. Pecksniff had not the slightest spark of gratitude, as was 
shown in his treatment of Tom Pinch. Xo actual murder was 
committed by him, but the cold, grasping nature which made 
murder possible belonged as fully to him as .to Jonas. 

We naturally wonder for what purpose Dickens sketched 
these two base characters, drawn so as to be as bad as possible 
without being exaggerated. Perhaps it was that they should 
serve as a dark background to bring out in greater relief the 

© O © 

brighter characters. Whether this were the author's purpose or 
not, thev most certainlv fulfil that office and greatly to their 
own disadvantage. Tom Pinch's open, unselfish nature was 
made more evident by Mr. Pecksniff's deceit and selfishness. 
Mercy's gentleness shone with all the brighter light for being 
placed next to Jonas' harshness. 

Perhaps Dickens intended to show the effect of one base char- 
acter upon another. It is evident that each feared the other. 


Mr. Pecksniff in his sly way was quite able to gain advantage 
over Jonas. This the latter knew and he was suspicious of every 
action of his esteemed father-in-law, whom he repeatedly called, 
with seeming audacity and boldness, a coward and a hypocrite. 
Mr. Pecksniff was afraid to offend Jonas because he knew that 
the latter would not hesitate to do him bodily injury. It is clear 
that both were cowards, and each was a check upon the other. 

The author's aim may have been to mark the difference in the 
characters themselves and to show, in spite of the difference, the 
same spirit possessing them both. They were much alike in 
that they had the same leading vices, and yet different in their 
ways of executing their evil designs. This difference was owing 
to difference in nature, that medium through which every man's 
ruling passion is forced to show itself. Jonas had more of the 
animal nature. He was coarse, cowardly, grasping, and cruel. 
Mr. Pecksniff was apparently more refined and given to higher 
views and sentiments. This refinement, however, was with the 
hypocrite only "skin deep." Many of his habits were gross 
and exacting and his gentlemanly instincts failed him when he 
had an object in view, as was shown by his persecution of lovely 
Mary Graham. As we have seen before, the ruling passion was 
an all-absorbing love of self, and this which predominated in 
both men has been represented by the author, in the different 
lights reflected by their natures. 


One may find many quiet places among the Catskills in which 
to spend a part at least of the summer. The trip should be made 
by boat, and if the day is clear the sail and scenery will meet the 
highest expectations. Soon after leaving the wharf the boat is 
gliding under the gloomy Palisades. Presently they are left 
behind and you are passing the Hudson's historical towns. 


After leaving Fishkill the river makes a sudden bend. High 
mountains are on either side and far away in the distance are the 
Catskills. At length Rondout is reached, and if you take the 
train here von will soon be among the mountains which a short 
time ago appeared so hazy. 

in three hours you arrive at Fox Hollow, and this is a capital 
stopping-place. The reason of its name is not known. The 
little village is surrounded on all sides by high mountains, and 
once there you seem forever lost to the bustle and tumult of the 
outer world. Clear, cold springs meet one at every step. The 
brooks teem with fish and "all nature seems glad and gay." 
Sequestered nooks here and there invite you to a picnic or a quiet 
hour with a book ; better still, romantic paths look so tempting 
that in spite of yourself you climb and climb until suddenly a 
grand view bursts upon you. One particularly lovely spot is at 
the foot of a mountain, where a brook rushes along over rocks 
forming cascades, and then glides smoothly bv with scarcelv a 
ripple. Weeping willows form beautiful bowers on its banks. 
The ice-cave is the best place for a picnic. It is situated in a 
ravine. Large rocks serve for tables, and fallen trees covered 
with moss make picturesque seats. If the quiet and solitude of 
Fox Hollow grow tiresome, noisier places are within riding dis- 
tance. The drive to Summit Mountain is delightful. On one 
side of the road is a limpid stream whose banks are fringed with 
flowers and over-hanging trees, and on the other side are high 
hills. Immense trees on the hill-side unite their branches with 
those of the river bank, forming an arch. Vistas of tall peaks 
and green meadows can be had here and there where the road 
makes a bend. A fine hotel has been erected on Summit Moun- 
tain and every year hundreds of people go there to enjoy the 
delicious breezes and magnificent scenery. The stables are large 
and well supplied with horses and mountain-carriages. Then 
there is the ride to Hunter Mountain, also pleasant. For five 
miles the road follows a noisy mill-stream. Hunter Mountain 
is a favorite resort for picnics. 


But who would spend the month of August among the moun- 
tains, when the sea's refreshing waves invite? Certainly no 
lover of the surf. 

Among the noted watering-places of New Jersey are Long 
Branch and the adjacent towns. By all means take the boat to 
Long Branch, that is if you do not count that disagreeable mal- 
ady, sea-sickness, in your list of ailments. At the pier officious 
porters from different hotels meet you. If you are favorably 
impressed by the glowing accounts of those from the West 
End, you enter a beach-wagon and in a few moments arrive at 
the hotel. It looks very cool and pleasant with its verandahs 
filled with flowers and hanging-baskets. The interior is quite as 
handsome as the exterior, and many think it the best hotel 
at Long Branch. This resort is not so long as its name 
would suggest. The broad avenues are lit at night by lamps, as 
is the plank walk down the beach. All the private residences 
are handsome. The pier is a very pleasant place, especially dur- 
ing a land-breeze. One end of Long Branch is called West 
End, and here is John Hoey's residence. As you enter the prin- 
cipal gate the first ohject that meets your gaze is the lodge which 
resembles a Swiss cottage. A winding road leads up to the 
house, a large, handsome building On the left of it is a beau- 
tiful lawn, and on the right is a long arbor covered with vines. 
Around this are beds of plants so arranged as to resemble carpets. 
In another part of the grounds are mosaic beds and hot-houses. 
The latter contain exquisite and rare tropical plants. Back of 
the house is a splendid orchard, and beyond that a part of the 
ground is uncultivated. Through this field runs a small brook 
spanned by a rustic bridge. 

A short distance from West End is Elberon, the scene of Gar- 
field's suffering. There is a memorial window in the pretty 

Next in importance to Long Branch is Asbury Park. Its 
situation is fine, and from any of its avenues glimpses of the 
ocean oan be had. Living in tents is the prevailing fashion in 
both Asbury Park and Ocean Grove. Wesley Lake lies between 


the two resorts. It is especially beautiful at night, when all the 
Chinese lanterns on the boats are lit. Ocean Grove is a great 
Methodist resort. The chief building is the Auditorium. Not 
far from it is a well called Bethesda, which refreshes the weary 
ones who go down Pilgrim's Pathway to the Auditorium. A 
model of Jerusalem is within a stone's throw of the well. Every 
Sunday evening choral services are held on the beach, and the 
effect of the voices uniting with the roar of the ocean is fine. 

The first thing visitors to any of these resorts do is to bathe, 
and it is very amusing to watch the beginners. Any one who 
prefers still-water to surf may bathe in Fletcher Lake. But the 
greatest fun at the sea-shore is hunting for clams. The children 
are very fond of it and one can see them, spades and pails in 
hand, laughingly rushing from the beach every time a huge 
breaker tumbles on shore. This fun is not confined to children. 
All who are not afraid of sunburn or freckles take part in it. 
Of course society belles never dare to approach the beach when 
the sun shines, except for a bath. The highest pleasure is a 
storm at sea, should you be so fortunate as to see one. A capi- 
tal but dangerous place for watching it, is the Long Branch 
pavilion near the bath-houses. The waves rise as high as the 
floor, and you have a very queer sensation. This is soon lost in 
the fascination of the storm. The dark threatening clouds 
lower themselves until they almost meet the angry waves whose 
dull booming is scarcely distinguishable from the heavy peals of 
thunder, while flashes of lightning at intervals illumine all 
objects with their lurid glare. 


The grand State Exposition, for which every one has been so 
busily preparing during the past year is over. Was it a success? 
Ask those who have united all their energies in its behalf, ask 
those who hooted at the idea of our having an Exposition, ask 
the poor dazed person who attempts to describe it ; the answer 
of one and all is emphatically, "It was." 


But to describe it is impossible. Perhaps what attracted most 
attention was the Durham exhibit of tobacco. The castle and 
moving ship, made of the "weed" itself, showed some skill in 
architecture, while one could not but wonder whether the too 
quickly suggested illness of the person on ship-board was caused 
by the motion of the boat, or whether the sufferer had, like the 
children who lived in a sugar house, partaken too freely of his 
habitation. The most beautiful thing at the Exposition was the 
hiddenite. It is of an almost emerald green, ' With a bright 
bit of sunshine glinting through,' not so beautiful as the dia- 
mond but more costly on account of its rarity. The aqua 
marina and topaz almost rivalled the hiddenite in loveliness. 
The former is the color of the sea and old legends whisper that 
it was once in truth a crystal drop of water. It was left alone 
in the mountains, to testify that old Ocean's waves had once 
rolled over their summits. The kind Earth pitied the lonely 
drop and tenderly drew it to her. Then the water-spirit died 
but the beautiful body took the form of this precious stone. 
The topaz seems to hold in thraldom a sunbeam which, though 
in prison, ceases not to dance and throw a happy smile on all 
around. The quartz crystals at our Exposition were so brilliant 
that an experienced eye was required to distinguish them from 
diamonds. The marble and granite were also very beautiful. 

But have I not said that the Exposition was far beyond any 
description ? Let us, therefore, only note some of its most strik- 
ing characteristics. The machinery on exhibition was very inter- 
esting; but there is so close a relationship existing between math- 
ematics and machinery that to manv the latter is robbed of half 
its interest. Moreover there was employed in the machinery 
part of the Exposition a little slip of a girl with such a wan, 
tired, face that it made one's heart ache to watch her. There was 
in one place an electric current which, passing along a rubber 
band extended in the air, would raise perfectly straight the hair 
of any one standing beneath it, or drop a tiny bridge of 
flame from itself to any object brought near enough. Under 
this band one day a certain dude, never before seen with 


one hair raised a millionth part of an inch from the crown 
of his head, was beguiled into pausing by a band of pretty 
maidens, who themselves stood carefully at one side. The sheets 
of cotton, some of it of the Sea Island variety, looked very 
pretty as they came forth from the rolling looms, too pure and 
white to be used for any coarse purpose. These were the things 
in the machinery department which particularly struck the 
writer; others found other objects more interesting. The small 
boy pronounced the big engine the best thing at the Exposition, 
and many an old head agreed with his way of thinking. The 
merchant gazed longest upon the silk and cotton looms. " Every 
man to his own." The principal stores of our many towns each 
sent specimens of stock, while private genius had full scope in 
which to develop itself. Some figures in wax done by little 
boys whose quick brains and ready fingers have been their only 
instructors, bid us hope that the older nations will not much 
longer be able to reproach America with never having brought 
forth a mighty sculptor. 

None did more towards making the Exposition what it was 
than the women of the State. There were so many crazy quilts 
that our eyes grew tired of Jooking at the bright colors and 
various devices. The preserves and pickles of our house-keepers 
would bear comparison even with those of their New England 
sisters, and there was some quite pretty painting. One lady pre- 
sented a map of Chatham county, made mostly of mosses and 
bark. Those who know the country pronounced it very good. 
It was certainly very pretty and showed great ingenuity. Of 
course it was next to impossible to keep the exact relative size of 
everything. Durham tobacco and Sea Island cotton coming 
under the hand of woman, assumed various shapes. Of the 
former a very stylish little bonnet was made; of the latter, were 
manufactured grotesque figures of men and women. There was 
lace work wrought by the hands of both young and old, and so 
beautiful was some of it, especially that by one lady of eighty, 
that we cannot but think that our country-women may yet equal 
• those of either Germanv or France in this direction. This same 


aged matron, also sent a spinning-wheel at which she learned to 
spin about seventy years ago. The wheel had belonged to her 
grandmother before her. There were many offerings from the 
little folks not discreditable to tiny fingers, and pastry-cooks 
and cake-bakers were so lauded that it is feared they will not 
again condescend to the manufacture of plain wholesome articles 
of food. 

It was wonderful to note the many kinds of wood as exhibited 
in an office made of the native wood and seemingly highly 
varnished. In reality no oily gloss had touched this pretty 
bower to take from it its own fresh woodland odor. Surely 
the forests and waters as well as the fiesh-and-blood children of 
Carolina have heard her royal mandate, "Bring to me, my sons 
and daughters, of all your various fruits that I may show to the 
world how rich a land is ours." And right loyally have they 
answered the appeal. So large indeed was one tree, that seventy 
men are said to have crowded into it at one time and many are 
incredulous as to its being one tree. The fruitfulness of our 
vineyards was seen in the many beautiful, sparkling wines, 
wines which might have tempted even a youthful Cyrus. The 
waters have not been less responsive and their tribute was one 
of the first. The fish were of many varieties and of great size, 
one, a sail-fish caught at Morehead this summer, is said to be the 
only one of its kind ever seen in the United States. Many 
specimens of Healing Waters were on exhibition. Tiny gold-fish 
gleamed in various nooks and corners; darting about in their 
diminutive houses, they seemed as happy as if the whole ocean 
were given them for roaming. They were the only live animals 
on exhibition, except some hideous, small alligators, one cute 
pink-eyed rat, some swans, and one fair fawn. I fear the little 
creatures wished themselves dead before the Exposition was over. 
Probably they were the only beiugs that did not enjoy the Expo- 
sition. Unless it were the policemen and fruiterers who wor- 
ried themselves to death endeavoring to keep the small boys from 
substituting for the placards "Hands off," others saying "Help 
yourselves"; the poor, tired little girl; the tiny chap left in 


charge of the stationery exhibit; or perhaps the Household 
Sewing-Machine man. The last victim had forty pieces of 
paper thrust at him at a time and the words, • "Do mine 
next" ringing in his ears from morn till eve; all because 
he had rashly promised to write any lady's name with his won- 
derful machine; which by the way, is the only sewing-machine 
ever made in the South. The little "pencil boy," as we called 
him, felt bound in duty to guard, with his life if need be, a 
supply of some two or three thousand pencils. Xo coaxing, 
bribery, or threat could move him, "His sacred trust was not 

The interest felt in the Expositon was not confined to any 
circle. City belles and modest country blossoms, men of science 
and mischievous youngsters, demure matrons and laughing 
school-girls, merry people and sad people, all people went to the 
Exposition. But doubtless they will all agree with the Chron- 
icle when it says : " Let us have another Exposition and let it 
be in Raleigh, and not in an old field two and a half miles there- 


[Compositions from the Preparatory Department are published without correction.] 

Elephants are now the largest animals in the world, though a 
long time ago, before the flood, there was a race of animals much 
larger than the elephant, called mammoths. Less than a hun- 
dred years ago, way up in the northern part of Siberia, a great 
mammoth was discovered, frozen up in a mound of ice and 
snow. It was dug out, and is now in the British Museum- 
When the circus was in Raleigh this Fall, I saw the elephants 
watered. Just as they came in sight of the branch, they began 
to trumpet just as shrill as a little toy horn. It frightened me 
so that I climbed the fence. When they had drunk as much 


as they wanted, they began to rock themselves from side to 
side, flapping their ears, glaring around with their small red 
eyes, and making a gurgling, roaring noise. * Then they began to 
throw the water up all over their backs, with their trunks, until 
they were dripping wet. All except the largest one, who went 
out on the bank and began to gather up dust with his trunk, 
and throw it over himself until he looked like he had not been 
near water for a month. Once I read an interesting story about 
an elephant. There were a party of gentlemen hunting deer in 
India, when they came unexpectedly on a large rogue elephant. 
There were in the party an experienced hunter named Mansfield, 
a boy named Charles, an old doctor who was neither experienced 
or brave, but who thought himself both, and a professional 
hunter who was a native. The doctor had made himself con- 
spicuous by a bright scarlet jacket, and a wide brimmed straw 
hat. After two or three shots had been fired at the elephant, 
without any visible effect except making him more furious, the 
doctor became so frightened that he lost all control of himself 
and rushed out of his place of concealment, in full view of the 
wounded elephant, who instantly gave chase. The doctor eluded 
him by dodging among the trees; but this unequal chase could 
not last long, and the elephant overtook him, threw him 
to the ground and pinned him down with his tusks. Just as he 
was about to trample the poor doctor into agelly, Mansfield fired 
a well aimed shot that pierced the elephant's heart, and the tre- 
mendous animal rolled over as if he had been struck dead by a 
thunderbolt. There lay the doctor covered with blood and dirt, 
and to all appearance dead; but on looking closer Mansfield saw 
that the elephant's tusks had entered the ground on each side of 
the doctor leaving him untouched, and most of the blood with 
which he was covered was from the elephant. The doctor soon 
recovered from his fainting fit, for he had been stunned by being 
thrown so violently to the ground; and ever afterwards he was 
grateful to Mansfield for that well timed shot which had saved 
his life. 



"Ugh! it is very cold up here; what do you think of it, sister 
doll-head?" said an old broken bottle-neck, in the dark corner 
of a garret. "Yes, and it is Christmas eve, too. It reminds 
me of old times in my girlhood, when I was so happy; but alas! 
I am away back iu the world now with no one to notice me; but 
it is not what I used to be. Oh, I was a great beauty once, and 
admired by every one who saw me." "Oh, do let us hear your 
history," said the back cf an old chair. "Yes do," said the 

J 7 7 

bottle-neck. "Well, the first thing that I remember," began the 
doll's head, " I was in the show-case of a Paris doll store; it was 
near Christmas time, and there were crowds of people coming in 
and buying, and all admiring me! but I was so high-priced that 
it was sometime before I was sold. At last, however, a wealthy 
gentleman bought me. He ordered with me a fine wardrobe of 
clothes, to be made by the shop-keeper's little lame daughter. 
The next day I was taken and carried out of the store, through 
a narrow lane and up some steep steps to a small room in which 
sat a little girl. " Oh, Papa, have you brought me another doll 
to dress?" The man kissed Amy (for that was her name) and 
laid me on the table. I was iu high glee when she took me up 
to commence on my clothes. Amy first brought out fine linen 
and lace, which she made up with dainty tucks and ruffles. 
Then came the satin and velvet for my walking dress, and then 
the materials for my party dress came, all made in the latest 
fashion. At last my wardrobe was completed and I was packed 
up to be sent to my first mistress. The house in which she 
lived was large and handsome, and to my joy she had a little 
room to herself. When she first saw me she was so delighted 
that I thought she would go mad. I lived very peacefully with 
her for nearly a year, when her mother's health became so bad 
that the doctors advised her to come to America. We all started 
very happily, but my happiness didn't last long, for all the time 
I was in my mistress' arms, and she, leaning too far over deck, 

Saint Mary's School JAhrzrf 


let me fall into the water. We were near land and I floated 
along until the waves threw me up on the shore. I laid there 
a long time, until a fisherman's son passing picked me up and 
gave me to his little sister; but she broke me, and knocked me 
about until soon nothing was left of me but my head. I finally 
landed in this old garret, with no one to notice or care for me 
anymore, and here ends my doleful history." By this time the 
old bottle-neck was asleep and the chair-back nodding. 


The following abstracts are from Yonge's Child's History of Prance, written from 
memory after all the books have been pat in the teacher's care. No child in the class 
is over ten years of age. 


When Louis the XV. came to the throne he was a baby and 
could scarcely walk alone, and he had no kinsman near enough 
to take his hand when he was shown to the people and had to 
be held by purple ribbon leading-strings. His reign was a sad 
one, however. The Duke of Orleans was regent for him, and 
the court was nothing but a sink of iniquity under him; but he 
died just as the young king w r as growing up. Louis had one 
very good tutor, Cardinal Fleury, but he died soon after, and 
there was nothing to prevent Louis from being drawn into all 
sorts of evil by the bad men of his court. His wife was a Polish 
princess, Maria Lezinska, a very good and kind woman but not 
at all clever. Louis liked her very much at first. But the 
wretches of Paris thought it dull to have a respectful court, so 
they taught Louis to be a drunkard and a glutton, and when 
Maria showed her dislike Louis got very angry and never liked 
her again. A war was going on about this time with Maria 
Theresa, Queen of Hungary, and Archduchess of Austria with 


Frederick, Kino; of Prussia. The English were with the Aus- 
trians and the French with the Prussians. George the II. 
defeated Marshal de Noialles at the battle of Dettingen and the 
English were defeated again at Fontenoy, the war went very 
hard with the French. And the poor were evenly worse treated 
than in the former reign. The Duke of Orleans, a good man 
son to the wicked regent, one day brought a piece of black bread 
to the council to show the king what his subjects lived on, but 
nothing could make Louis care for anyone but himself. There 
was a short peace made, but what was called the seven years 
war soon broke out, this time the French were with the Aus- 
trians, and the English with the Prussians, and there was a great 
battle at Minden which the French lost, and there was a much 
more lasting peace made afterwards. The King had one son 
the Dauphin and he lived very peacefully with his good wife a 
Polish princess, and there was no one in the world Louis hated 
more because their goodness was a continuel reproof, and he 
could not help thinking that the people had rather have the 
Dauphin for their king instead of himself, so the young Dauphin 
was not allowed to have anything to do with business. And so 
all he had to do was to educate his children and help his poor 
sisters who the king had scarcely educated, the happiest was 
Madam Louise, who became a nun. The good Dauphin died 
at thirty six years of age leaving five children the eldest eleven 
and his wife followed fifteen months later, begging her sisters in 
law to look after her children. The king only grew worse, he 
used to amuse himself by going in disguise to the low dances 
among the Paris mobs, though he went every day to church. 
There was not but one good Bishop who once dared to tell him 
how wicked he was. Only the people who said nothing about 
the wickedness of the court received any favor. The most noted 
men at this time were Voltaire and Rosseau, who wrote books 
that everybody read, who pretended to think that the old heathen 
prophets were better then Christians. The Hugonots were still 
persecuted, but the Infidels who had no religion at all were left 
alone. The young Dauphin grew up and married the beautiful 


daughter of Maria Theresa, Maria Antoinette, the day when she 
arrived at Paris there were great illuminations and fire works 
and in the midst of them they heard the cry of fire they all ran 
to the Champs Elysees, and some were trampled on and killed, 
and though of course the young Dauphines had nothing to do with 
it they said it was a bad beginning. The King died at sixty- 
four years of age 1774, after sixty years reign, in which he had 
sank deeper and deeper into sin. 


Louis came to the throne in 1774. He and his queen Marie 
Antoinette threw themselves on their knees when they heard 
that their grandfather was dead crying out O God help us we 
are too young to reign. It was as if they knew what dreadful 
times were coming brought on by the wickedness of those 
who had gone before them. Nobody wanted to set things 
right any more than Louis XVI, but he did not know how to 
begin for the wickedness that had been growing up for hun- 
dreds of years could not be set down by one word. He was 
very shy and awkward, and hated speaking to strangers and they 
went away offended. The people were so use to bad kings that 
they did not believe that he was a good and sincere man. The 
queen give offence in other ways, the court that she was raised 
up in was less stately than the French court. When the ladies 
came to see her they would get tired of standing and would sit 
down hidden by the hoops of the others and the old ladies 
who were presented thought she was making game of their 
dresses and became very angry. Her chief lady of the bed- 
chamber the Duchess of Noailles* tried to keep her in order 
the queen laughed at her and gave her the name of Madame 
l'Etequette. One time the queen was riding a donkey and it fell 
with her she sat laughing on the ground till the Duchess came 
up and she said, Pray Madame when a queen and her donkey 
both fall together which must be the first to get up. The palace 
that Louis XIV had built at Versailles was so large that nobody 

ST. MARY'S 31 USE. 55 

could live in it iu comfort and Louis XIV had another one 
built at Trionon but that was too stately for the queen and she 
had a smaller house built with a farm and a dairy where she 
and her ladies used to amuse themselves in white muslin dresses 
and straw hats but the people would not believe but that there 
was something bad and they did not like her because her country 
had been at war with theirs. The Americans made war with 
George III of England and a French noble man named Mar- 
quis de la Fayette ran away to fight and Louis sent troops to 
help them and the gain to the United States made La Fayette 
feel bitterly towards home because the poor people were ground 
down to wretchedness and nobody felt it more than Louis XVI. 
At last in the year 17S9 Louis called together all the peers and 
deputies from the towns and Provinces. This was not like the 
English Parliment for all the peers came from one chamber 
and the commons from another but there was a great many more 
duputies than peers so they had their own way. The people 
were tired of waiting for the Parliment to change the law, no 
wander for the people were so poor- that they did not know what 
to do and whenever they saw anybody that they thought were 
against them they would run at him crying "To the lamp" and 
hang him to the lamps which were fastened in the streets with 
iron rods. They ran to great old prison Bastile and tore it down, 
but there was not hardly anybody there because Louis XVI had re- 
leased all of his grandfathers prisoners. Afterwards they were 
enrolled in what was called the National Gaurd. They wore 
cockades and white red and blue scarfs over their shoulders 
and LaFayette was general of thisGaurde. The States General 
called themselves the National Assembly and went on changing 
the laws. They first said that no law should be passed without 
the king's consent but then they said that he would stop the re- 
form. One time there was a scarcity of food in Paris the 
Mob all rushed to Versailles yelling and shouting for the Queen 
to show herself and she came out on a balcouv with her girl of 
twelve and her boy of six. No children, they cried ; so she 
sent them back and then stood on the balcony thinking every 


minute that somebody would shoot her head off but not a hand 
was raised. But night came on and the people had another fit 
of fury and they broke into the Queen's room where she had 
just escaped and a brave lady and her two gaurds were barring 
the outer door. The next day they went into Paris and a Fishwo- 
man shouted at them, Here comes the baker, his wife and 
bakers boy. The National Assembly took away all the church 
property, and said that the Clergy should swear to obey them 
instead of the Church and those who did not were sent away. 
Louis XVI tried to escape and the National Gaurde seized them 
and they were kept under close gaurd. On the 20th of June, 
1792, the mob rushed to Versailles and spent three hours in 
rioting and insulting and on the 10th of August the people were 
seized with another fit of fury. Marie wanted the loyal gentle- 
men to help Louis but he said he would not let anybody fight 
for him, he thought he would be saved by going to the National 
Assembly, the brave mens heads were cut off and carried 
about the streets on pikes. The Assembly voted that Louis XVI 
should no more rule France that France was free to rule itself 
and his reign ended on the 10,.th of August 1792. 


It must have been with many regrets that the charming 

class of '84 resigned its honors and privileges to other hands. 
We often wonder what pleasure in their "Young Ladyhood" is 
as pure and simple, yet as ardent, as the one which they have 
bequeathed to us, one to which we may always look forward to 
end each day, however full of cares. They are no more appealed 
to by dependent little Juniors, who think "The Seniors" know 
everything. On Saturday night they do not discourse sweet 
music to appreciative listeners. They no longer wield the pen 
as literary critic, or surprise us with their knowledge of "Cur- 
rent Topics." What do they do without a Muse to occupy their 
sleeping and their waking thoughts '? Cheer up, dear Sisters, you 
may no longer send but you may receive St. Mary's messenger. 
You may no more show your noble genius in our periodical, but 
it is all for the best; perhaps, if allowed to keep your old post, 
you might have written yourselves to death, as did Scott. Con- 
sider that the goal of your hopes has been reached. Be thank- 
ful that the pen has not dropped from your fingers because there 
is no more power in them to grasp the familiar instrument. 
Plow blest you are no more to experience the bereavement of 
parting with the work on which you lavished your highest skill. 
Be content to reflect on the pleasant past and strive not to under- 
value the joys of the present. We greet both you and all on 
the joyful Christmas-tide, the merriest feast of all the year, 
hoping that while the rich green and bright scarlet of the fresh 
holly bough adorns the drawing-room wall, and the soft snow 
sparkles out-of-doors in the frosty starlight, even though reading 
Dickens' charming Christmas Tales by the cheery light of a 
Christmas lire, you will stop long enough to be greeted with 
"Merry Christmas" from St. Mary's. 


In reviewing the Muse we see that it has always been a 
strong exponent of the thoughts and sentiments of the Senior 
Class. There can be no exponent without a power. The con- 
clusion is evident. But there are such things as positive and 
such things as negative exponents, and these are opposites fa an 
important sense. Now the last class had among its members a 
Head for mathematics never equalled at St. Mary's. It is only 
after tedious thought that we apprehend what that mind found 
self-evident. '84 had an elocutionist whose gift we never found 
an adjective to describe and whose voice in song we preferred to 
Minnie Hauck's. We have in school a voice almost as charming, 
but alas! it does not belong to the Senior Class. Moreover, the 
individual and the aggregate mental grasp of the past class was 
marvellous, for none of them ever had to read six chapters of 
"Smith's History of the World" three times to obtain a few 
facts in Egyptian history ! 

With such accomplishments the exponent of '84 was neces- 
sarily positive; and perhaps that of '85 is negative. Never- 
theless a quantity having a negative exponent is equal to some- 
thing. Happy thought! we are something — we are healthy, 
we appreciate all our fun, privileges, and honors, and we are not 
all novices. Our readers will recognize among us one who has 
often been of great assistance to the Muse editors by contributing 
interesting articles on subjects they would otherwise have consid- 
ered stupid. So if our readers will — 

"Be to her virtues very kind, 
Be to her faults a little blind," 

we will try to make our Muse sustain some small degree of her 
ancient fame. 

After the rain which fell with our tears the first week of 
school, we thought it never would rain again. The weather 
grew more and more oppressive, the dust thicker and thicker. 
October, 1884, will live in the history of North Carolina as the 
Month of the Exposition and the Month of Dust. At first we 
complained at having to swallow so much dust but before it 
rained we learned to bite it without a murmur. We would not 


have been offended then if told by a minister to take our Bibles 
from their dusty shelves, for our poor little alcoves had daily to 
be excavated. In vain did Miss Katie try to make her girls 
keep their shoes looking fresh-polished. If it was so dusty in 
our grove, it can be imagined what the streets of Raleigh were. 
There were no such things as white dresses; they all anticipated 
the fashionable shades of winter brown. However we were 
encouraged to bear anything, for it was "Exposition" month. 
The almost hourly arrival of friends proved even more fatal to 
our brains than did the dust. But we thoroughly enjoyed every- 
thing, especially a visit from the Salem School. Some of us 
were in the parlor entertaining friends when we looked out of 
the window and saw the fair group coming up the porch. They 
introduced themselves as the Salem School. According to their 
wish, we took them to see our lovely Art-building and then to 
the place we girls love most at St. Mary's, our dear little Chapel. 
They were charmed with our "large organ" and "exquisite 
stained windows" and remarked, "How cozy the bright carpet 
looks"; but we told them that they could not fully appreciate 
our chapel unless present when all of us are chanting the choral 
service. They seemed to have reserved their strongest exclama- 
tions of delight for our dormitories and alcoves, and even looked 
a little covetous at sight of the "pride of our life," our ward- 
robes. We feel assured that they enjoyed their visit, having 
received a copy of their paper, " The Academy," in which they 
dwell at some length on their Seniors' Exposition Trip. 

We were delighted to have four members of the class of 
'84 with us during October, but it seemed strange not to see them 
the first to obey the bells, and it was hard not to call them "The 
Seniors." Alas! thev were only visitors. They were honored 
by a reception on the evening of October 2'2d. We too (or 
rather we four) received invitations, and it was simply delight- 
ful to dance with a few couples in our large parlors to Chip's 
music. Late in the evening our Rector was requested to lead 
the way to our Lady-Principal's sitting-room, which in the short 
space of a day had been converted into a handsome dining- 


room. There were the cutest little tete-a-tete tables, laden with 
something even more attractive than flowers. But the centre 
table itself was not so attractive as the hostess around whom we all 
gathered after supper, listening with delight to what we had 
been longing to hear ever since we had caught a glimpse of her 
alpenstock. It was very late before w r e could tear ourselves 
away, and at twelve o'clock we were obliged to play Cinderella, 
though as invited guests, we had fully intended to take our 
departure at a reasonable hour. Since then we have become 
accustomed to getting to our dormitory late, for we are reading 
in the evenings such a delightful book that the bell always rings 
too soon. On Friday nights we read Uarda, with which we 
are so charmed that we continue reading during our Saturday 
morning sewing-hour. 

The Exposition opened October 1st, and though we had 
holiday, intending to go, the heat was so intense that it was 
thought best for us to stay at home. However, the next day 
the Asheville band did not find it too oppressive to give us a 
delightful serenade by sunlight. 

Some of us, especially the Astronomy class, took great inter- 
est in the partial eclipse of the moon, October 4th. 

On the morning of October 8th we were distressed to hear 
that the night before, Bones, that good old horse, had breathed 
his last. Having lived here so long he had become a part of 
St. Mary's. He has been succeeded by a dear pet in the shape 
of a grey cat which takes its seat regularly upon the soft cushion 
of the school-room organ-stool, within the circle of our General 
Literature Class, and seems greatly interested in hearing of the 
Vedas. We only hope that Tabby is preparing to help us -on 

We enjoyed a flying visit from Lai la, one of our loved 
New Bern sisters, who came to spend one day at the Exposi- 
tion. We Avere loath to let her leave us so hurriedly, but per- 
haps we shall see more of her in the future. At present we 
shall have to be content with "Chip" and "Nan." 


Maud Cunningham dropped in one delightful afternoon, 
overcome with joy at the sight of St. Mary's. .She has travelled 
most of the summer and, as she says, "has been everywhere." 
Would she were here to give our Muse readers an account of 
her trip. 

We are always ready for something new. We could have 
danced for joy on October 11th, when our Hector told us to be 
ready that night to go to see the "Bohemian Girl." Of course 
we enjoyed it, although we did not think Ford's troop sustained 
its reputation. 

Ox the AFTERNOONS of October 14, 15, 16, and 17, different 
parties of us went to the Exposition, and on the 21st we had 
holiday and all went too-ether. It was interesting; to watch the 
groups as they started off, each girl with her little street-bag. 
Only by chance did we happen to peep into one of these satchels, 
so it would not be fair to tell what funny things we saw. But 
perhaps there will be no harm in saying we saw a little note- 
book and pencil. That girl evidently intended writing an exact 
account of all she saw, or perhaps she had even more serious 
intentions. Our time to go came on Friday. Could we have 
wished for a better day?" Xo such thought as — "what will 
become of Green to-morrow"? disturbed us. We were as 
merry a set as ever had holiday, and we made our way through 
the crowds, saw everything, found plenty of time to discuss 
things we could not see the use of, and to listen quietly to the 
music of three bands that were playing simultaneously in dif- 
ferent parts of the building. Strange to say we could not catch 
the airs. We were very tired when we returned but we still had 
something delightful to look forward to. The Binghamites were 
coming to drill for us that afternoon. We waited patiently 
until dim twilight when — 

"That great host, with measured tread, 
And drums advanced and ensigns spread," 
But hearts all failing them for dread 
That they too late should be — 

came to delight us with their skill. We would have lit our 


Chinese lanterns on the front porch in order to see the great 
display of military power, had we known the company was to be 
unavoidably late. 

Who will say that two people cannot see the same thing in 
entirely different lights? In noticing the two articles in our 
present issue headed, one "The Exposition," the other "The 
North Carolina State Exposition," we might naturally expect to 
find a resemblance between the two. Strange to say, it lies 
almost solely in the titles. Valuable but different information 
may be derived from each. Neither contradicts the other. Our 
co-editor treats the subject most philosophically. There is a 
logical sequence in her way of introducing the different exhibits. 
Nothing escapes her notice. If any one thing e-pecially attracts 
her attention she does not tell us. No partiality is shown ; all 
came from the Old North State. She leads us gently, as it were 
by the hand, to see each article, and tells us whence it came, 
wherefore it is interesting, making sundry and apposite historical 
allusions. She proves easy what the dear Junior announces 
"impossible." Our little sister treats what she considers a 
momentous subject very modestly. She flies as a child from one 
attraction to another. Nothing is dwelt upon but what pleases 
most, and she does not hesitate to tell us what that is. She 
entertains not by historic allusions, but by legendary lore. Per- 
haps she is a little at sea when she states that we may hope some 
day to boast of a mighty sculptor. Where are Homer, Story, 
Reiuhardt, and Powers? 

There are several of us who spend the dancing half every 
evening in our complete and cozy library, reading and discussing 
the leading periodicals of the day. We may well say our library 
is complete and cozy; for besides many new books, it has a 
lovely carpet and a new portiere, so bright that the room can- 
not be darkened even by compositions. 

We have been watching with delight the progress of our 
new covered-way to the Art-building. It is very unlike the 


other covered-ways, and it has just occurred to us that it is a 
splendid place for roller-skates. Would not skating be an excel- 
lent substitute for walking? 

We were surprised, on our return in September, to find a 
complete change in the East Rock-House. Instead of the large 
room, which was formerly the art-room, there are now the cutest 
little rooms in which the teachers stay. The West Rock-House, 
too, has not been left without improvement. Miss Stone's room 
has been made exquisite. Her new "Eastlake" furniture is 
beautifully set off by the pale blue kalsomined walls and new 
college curtains. 

During the afternoon of Hallowe'en the door to our 
Lady-Principal's sitting-room was closed, generally a sign that 
something nice is going to happen. Evidently games were being- 
talked over, apples and candy prepared, and invitations for 
the evening sent to some near friends. At last one of the 
assembly came out and gave a message to the "Lady of the Day" 
and in a few minutes the news had passed to every girl, "Miss 
Czarnomska says dress." By eight o'clock we were having a 
good time. The Seniors, re-info reed by our charming Mademoi- 
selle, our art teaeher, Miss Yost, and one whom we always 
depend on for fun, Miss Slater, began to play Dumb Crambo. 
Every word rhyming with " bane" was acted in the most novel 
way. Until some one suggested sending in the "Janes" we did 
not know we had so many in school. Then we played " Towel" 
and "Drop Handkerchief " until Miss Jennie came in with a 
large bowl, and one of the little "Kinder" said: "Oh! we are 
going to have some syllabub." Better than that. It was a bowl 
of suds for bubbles. Three large boxes also appeared. It was 
announced that the largest box contained a prize to be awarded 
to the best blower; the next, a prize to be given to the second 
best blower; and the smallest, one for the third bubble. The 
efforts of the different competitors to keep their bubbles up were 
quite exciting. One little girl threw herself on the floor just in 
time to catch a beauty on her bright upturned face. Then 


appeared the tub with the tempting apples and we bobbed to our 
heart's content. In the meantime trays of candy had been 
brought in and the more dignified girls, who thought it a shame 
to bangs to be dipped in the tub, had the first taste of Royster's 
famous " chips." It was very late when we made the room 
ready for prayers, and we went to our dormitories deciding that 
we should not soon forget the All Hallowe'en of 1884. 

The next day was perfect. The leaves, "in color glorious," 
seemed to change their tint each moment, as if blushing at the 
constant kisses of the sun. The brightest, with the first chrys- 
anthemums of the season, dressed our Chapel, where with ten- 
der thoughts we joined in the grand choral service of All Saints' 

On Thanksgiving Day we went to the Church of the Good 
Shepherd. We were repaid for leaving our dear little Chapel by 
hearing a glorious sermon from our Bishop. The day was alto- 
gether delightful. A little bird must have whispered very gen- 
erally the fun to be expected at St. Mary's, for never before have 
so few girls accepted invitations to dine out, and "the more the 
merrier." After we returned from service the Seniors finished 
the first volume of Uarda. Before we dreamed it was four 
o'clock, the dinner-bell rang, but it did not disperse the merry 
party, for we took advantage of a few vacancies to sit at the 
same table. The fun we had gives us an idea of that enjoyed 
by the girls Avho remain during the Christmas holidays and 
almost makes us want to stay. 

Not only St. Mary's but the Philharmonic Society of 
Raleigh welcomes heartily Dr. Kiirsteiner's return. A meeting 
of said society was held Tuesday evening, November 25th. The 
Dr. told us that an attendance of nearly fifty persons showed that 
musical enthusiasm in Raleigh is not a thing of the past. Dr. 
Kursteiner was elected Director by acclamation. It must be very 
gratifying to him to be so warmly welcomed, for it proves the 
full appreciation of his services of two years ago. . We know 
that some fine concerts will be given during the winter. 


One bright lovely mornixg we knew it must be a birth- 
day because of the many figures which stole noiselessly, cards or 
flowers in hand, to a certain room down-stairs. We soon had a 
most delightful proof in the party which gathered in the same 
room for the birthday feast. It was a birthday enjoyed by all 
from our Bishop down to the youngest Junior. 

The Bishop has been particularly generous of his visits this 
year. Besides coming up to see us in our parlor several times, 
he has given us a sermon in our Chapel. The little folks were 
delighted to entertain him the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. 
Though their entertainment was prepared in a very short time, 
it did them great credit. The Primaries commenced with the 
French "motion long" taught them by Mademoiselle. Then 
come in the dramatic troupe and played "King John." They 
really surprised our Bishop by their elocution. We were greatly 
amused at the tact which some of the little actresses showed in 
using the large, inside blinds to their new room for arras. But 
what pleased the Bishop most were the Calisthenic Exercises. 
He had never seen them before, his duties having always called 
him away in May; and the little folks, anxious to let him see 
what he had missed, showed even more skill than at their Annual 


The North Carolina State Exposition. — The North 
Carolina Exposition succeeded beyond our hopes in bringing to 
light the manifold resources of the Old North State. We had 
before but an inadequate conception of her natural wealth or of 
her vigorous spirit of enterprise. She was a wonder to strangers 
at Atlanta and Boston; she is now a surprise to her own people, 
and henceforth, we trust, will be a lasting admiration to all, as 
well as a kindler of busy ambition within and without her bor- 
ders. North Carolina's undeveloped riches are vast, nor is she 


blest in vain. Her mountains, the highest east of the Rockies 
and older than these, are clad to the summit with trees or grass 
and graced with flowers of rare beauty that grow nowhere else; 
minerals of untold extent and value underlie her fertile soil; 
her hundred little rivers supply water-power to many a thriving 
mill; her forests of the long-leaf-pine bring her money and 
renown ; her sounds are so full of fish that the numberless water- 
fowl never miss the millions caught by the seine. But agricul- 
ture is her chief industry; and well it may be, with her excel- 
lent climate in the center of the temperate zone. Her valleys 
stand thick with corn and apple orchards; her slopes are covered 
with wheat and the vine; her lowlands are white with cotton, or 
golden with rice and tobacco; while her spare bits of ground 
nourish sorghum, peas, pea-nuts, potatoes and fruit, rye, oats and 
millet, hay, clover and jute. It is a well-known fact that tea 
would flourish in our State, the sole obstacle being lack of labor- 
ers by reason of our small population; but so long as our crops 
pay, and with the prospect of free trade or low tariff to cheapen 
foreign produce, what need have we to introduce foreign plants? 
unless it be to forestall the damage of our commerce by the 
Franco-Chinese war. 

Such is North Carolina's appreciation of her favorite pursuit 
that at the Exposition everything, except machinery, that was 
not shown in the separate counties, was included in the agricultu- 
ral display , namely, not merely vegetable products but animals (!) 
and minerals (!) also. The Agricultural Department, strictly 
speaking, though outshone by these foreign intruders, was still 
one of many beauties; with its great jars of canned fruits and 
vegetables, pyramids of wines, preserves, jellies, revolving stands 
showing the North Carolina flora, cones of cotton, stacks of grain, 
tobacco cures, mountain apples, and, above all, the fine collection 
of native woods, in the block, rough, and polished, and the 
exquisite little office built of the same. 

What description can do justice to the assortment of marbles, 
granite, and other building stones? They have been called 
"superb," and that seems the best word for them. They formed 


one of the marvels of Boston, and now that more have been 
added, let Tennessee look to her laurels in Xew Orleans. Few 
of the metallic ores were beautiful to look at, yet they made us 
admire the more the good old State. Chatham county sent coal, 
Duplin a phosphate rock and petrified stump. There was iron 
from eighteen out of nineteen counties where it is mined, and 
gold from sixteen out of thirty-three. Nearly one-half of the 
State is gold-bearing, but the precious metal abounds most in 
Rowan county, being found there in four hundred places. Yet 
Rowan has only forty-five mines, while Cabarrus has sixty-three 
and Mecklenburg fifty-three. Franklin has one only, but over 
a million dollars have been taken from that during less than 
three-cpiarters of a century. Some more of our minerals are 
copper, silver, lead, zinc, tin, corundum, sulphur, soap-stone, 
graphite, serpentine, asbestos, peat, marls, kaolin, malachite, and 
particularly mica, beautiful specimens of which appeared in the 
Cleveland count} 7 exhibit and in the tasteful bower of cotton 
and mica over the "gem parlor." The collection of precious 
stones cost $8,000. There were some small diamonds and 
rubies; but, of course, the hiddeuites were most popular, 
although really surpassed in beauty by the topazes and aqua 
marines. There were also some fine emeralds, amethvsts, and 
uncut beryls; a ball of pure quartz crystal; a piece of Venus- 
hair (rutile); besides garnets, sapphires, lapislazuli, and many 
others. • 

The most attractive exhibits to the general eye were ths con- 
tributions of hunter and fisher. Of aquatic animals there were 
a beaver, a musk-rat and a raccoon. Offish there were over fifty 
varieties, and of water-fowl about half as many. Xot that these 
are all which frequent our coasts and streams. 

" The land we love is a, favored land, 
With its oyster beds so rare, , 

With its flocks of ducks and wild geese too, 
That soar in the ocean air.'' 

After a single shot, the sportsman reckons up by dozens the 
Canvas-back with his sisters and cousins Red-head, Black-head, 


Teal and Mallard, and his aunts Merganser and Widgeon. 
North Carolina's fisheries are the most profitable of any on the 
South Atlantic coast, not- even excepting Maryland's "gold 
mine," the Chesapeake. The herring and shad fisheries alone 
are the most extensive in the Union. We have seines nearly a 
mile and a half long; and they are operated by means of 
"steam flats," invented by a citizen of the Albemarle Section. 
Our oyster fields are inexhaustible, for while none of our shores 
lack them, Pamlico Sound and its tributaries are bottomed 
with natural beds, for miles along Hyde and Dare counties. 
There was a handsome display of valuable commercial fish : 
herring, shad, trout (or striped bass), sturgeon, perch, rock (or 
black bassj, chub, mullet, blue-fish, menhaden, spot, hog- fish, 
croaker, sheepshead, and Spanish mackerel ; add to these floun- 
der, moonfish and sun-fish, red and black drum, cero, cabeo, and 
sail-fish, measuring in length from one to six and a half feet; 
and numerous small fish, notably the pilot fish, clinging, as in 
life, to the throat of a shark. Besides the taxidermic specimens 
(which were prepared by a New Bern firm after the Davidson 
process), there were shown also herrings cured in divers ways, 
oysters, crabs, shrimps, terrapins, turtles, star-fish, squids (or 
cuttle fish), artificially hatched shad, and upwards of fifty more 
varieties preserved in salt or alcohol. 

The decorations of this division consisted of. seines, other nets 
and articles of the trade, photographs and models of the steam- 
flat, fishing schooner, pound net boat, and fish-oil factory, to- 
gether with whole breasts of swan's down tanned. 

The bulk of the Agricultural Department, compared with 
that of the county sections, was small, although only forty-three 
of the ninety-six counties gave themselves a showing outside the 
general display. The magnificent collection gathered in the 
short space of two months from the thirteen Albemarle counties, 
spoke well for this fruitful and prosperous portion of our State. 
The agricultural advantages of this district equal those of any 
other, while her fisheries are no losing substitute for minerals, 
and her wild fowl for the ginseng and flowers of the " Land of 


the Sky." Although in other parts of North Carolina harvests 
were not up to par this year, in the Albemarle section corn 
yielded one hundred bushels per acre. Pea-nuts yielded the same. 
Cotton, rice, wheat, oats, melons, and sweet potatoes do well in 
this land, also the home of the delicious scuppernong and the 
Mattamuskeet apple. Stock-raising enjoys favorable conditions; 
for the very pigs live on chufas and tuck ah oe root! As 
for game, the sportsman finds not only fish and fowl but 
also deer and bear. We have already described the splendid 
fisheries. The lumbering facilities are great, and the Dismal 
Swamp abounds in the celebrated red "juniper-water." The 
Albemarle exhibit covered thickly a space of four thousand feet, 
floor, wall, and ceiling. There was an office made of a hollow 
tree forty feet in circumference and a log cabin built of corn 
stalks with chimney of shucks and grasses. The feathered folk 
numbered over four hundred. Every industry was represented, 
but we cannot linger to describe particularly, as the exhibits of 
the western and middle counties vet lie before us — another fair 

Of those whose chief delight is to till the ground, Caldwell, 
Wake, Xew Hanover, Pitt, Moore, Davidson, Catawba, Samp- 
son, and Halifax seem to have best succeeded in the cereals, 
fruits, and vegetables. Caldwell, situated in that favored spot, 
the "Frostless Belt," in the midst of the Piedmont section, 
raises not only the mountain cranberry, but the fig, peach, and 
nectarine of softer clime. She has also mills, manufactures, and 
mines. A $35 gold nugget was among her curiosities. Our 
old friend Wake has machinery and stone quarries, as 
well as luscious grapes and giant persimmons. Xew Hanover 
adds olive, sugar-cane, and vanilla to her home produce; 
Sampson, vanilla, sugar-cane (green, purple and orange), 
and Chinese tea-plant; and Halifax owns a tea-plant that has 
become native by thirty years' cultivation in this country. 
Moore's fine display was contributed by a single gentleman 
farmer, with the excerption of the beautiful silk sent by the 
French colony. Davidson boasted the largest pumpkins in the 


South, one weighing a hundred and twenty-five pounds. Sev- 
eral of the above counties, besides sundry others, had splendid 
arrays of preserves, pickles, and jellies; while Chatham, Frank- 
lin, Halifax, and Vance exhibited wines and brandies. Guil- 
ford's section was much the handsomest of all, with its one 
hundred kinds of dried and evaporated fruits, fair and fragrant 
as apple blossoms, or rich and sweet as calycanthns. Pitt, 
though more exclusively agricultural than the rest, evidenced a 
fondness for bee-culture in the lovely honey she laid before us. 
She presented to view also one hundred and three varieties of 
her natural forest growths. Indeed the greater part of the 
State is alive to the profit of her timber and ornamental woods, 
of which she has fifty-seven highly prized varieties. These are 
largely consumed in the manufacture of spokes, rims and 
handles, shuttles, staves, shingles, etc., such as were seen at the 
Exposition. But is North Carolina ashamed of her first-found 
treasure, the yellow pith-pine? Verily, one would have thought 
so, but for New Hanover, Robeson, and Wake. Rather, 

" Honored and blest be tbe evergreen pine ! 

* * * -x- * * 

Heaven send it bappy dew, 
Eartb lend it sap anew, 
Gayly to bourgeon and broadly to grow." 

She is not ashamed of her tobacco: witness Granville's 
words, "Bright Tobacco Showers Gold and Silver Dollars over 
Granville, the Banner County"; witness Vance's report of the 
justly celebrated "Gold Leaf Tobacco," which often sells for a 
dollar a pound and yields from five hundred to nine hundred 
pounds per acre; witness Raleigh, who paid $20 for the first 
pound brought to her market; witness Hickory and Winston 
and Durham, ever ready with advertisements. Blackwell's 
varied and striking devices could not fail to be seen and remem- 
bered. Not only did his wares of every sort appear, but a ship, 
the "Golden Belt," rigged with tobacco, lay rocking in a har- 
bor to the sound of a music-box playing " Carolina," with a light- 
house on a neighboring promontory, a revolving light and a 


wind-mill — all made of the weed. There was also in operation 
a machine which makes seventy-five thousand cigarettes a day. 

North Carolina's manufactures, except of tobacco, are, as yet- 
on a small scale. Yet she is as thoroughly capable of independ- 
ence in this respect as in her breadstuffs and minerals, and many 
of her citizens, both by precept and example, are now urging 
progress in this line. Look at Georgia ! Her manufactures have 
not injured her agriculture. On the contrary her agriculture has 
improved. The sight of machinery, above every other human 
work, conveys an idea of power and of intellect, inspiring awe 
not only toward the mighty forces of nature, but also toward the 
man who can control and utilize these genii. It would have 
been more gratifying, therefore, had all the machinery at the 
Exposition belonged to our own mills and factories. All com- 
mendation and encouragement, then, be given to those who have 
begun, or are thinking of beginning, this honorable and lucra- 
tive mode of livelihood. Praiseworthy exhibits of flour, woven 
goods, and pottery were made by Forsyth and Caldwell coun- 
ties; rifles also by Forsyth; sewing-machines by Cleveland; corn 
mills by Moore; pottery, shoes, and cotton goods by Randolph; 
cotton and tobacco goods by Catawba; woolen and cotton stuffs, 
particularly blankets, by Rockingham; wagons by Montgomery ; 
not to mention numerous individual displays both from our own 
and other States. 

Judoino; from their exhibits, Lincoln countv is whollv absorbed 
in mining industries, and Cleveland, largely so. These two have 
in common iron, gold, copper, mica, garnet, kaolin and other 
clays; to which Cleveland adds the only tin mined in America, 
and Lincoln shows, besides manganese, kyanite, sulphur, furnace 
hearth-stone, tourmaline, asbestos, whetstone, rutile, and the 
Randleman amethyst, the largest in the State. Six counties 
showed fine building stones. Craven and Forsyth brought 
extensive natural history collections, araonu; which the Xewbern 
alligator and Salem butterflies and insects were the most remark- 
able specimens. , 

Of fancy work there was great variety in almost every section : 
drawings, paintings, and needlework of all kinds; flowers in 


wax, hair, zephyr, and paper; bonnets of cotton, tobacco, shucks, 
and grains, and vegetable dishrags. Not even a gourd was 
deemed too ugly for ornamentation. There was embroidery 
done in 1810 and 1815, a table-cloth made in 1773, and a coun- 
terpane woven fifty years before the Revolution. Of the exhibits 
of the largest female schools in North Carolina, Salem Academy 
showed mainly fancy work, St. Mary's, paintings dn canvas 
and china, and Peace Institute, both. The most curious piece of 
work was a map of Chatham made of the county's native 
mosses. Warren and Orange counties showed us memorials of 
Daniel Webster, General Santa Anna, General Lee and other 
historical keepsakes; and in the Floral Hall there were several 
paintings by Sir Joshua Reynolds, and a dress of Marie Antoi- 

The whole Exposition was admirably conducted, the various 
exhibits were tastefully arranged, and the electric lights were a 
special success. We doubt not that the State will compare 
favorably with any other at New Orleans, nor that her future 
will be worthy of her past. 

North Carolina stands first in our national history. A French 
vessel touched our coast in 1522, and soon after a Spanish ship 
sailed by, but neither paused for settlement. Sir Walter 
Raleigh's captains, Amidas and Barlow, landing in July, 1584, 
took possession in Queen Elizabeth's name. Barlow says in his 
report: "We viewed the land about us, being where we first 
landed very sandy, and low towards the water side, but so full 
of grapes, as the very beating and surge of the sea overflowed 
them, of which we found such plenty as well there as in all 
places else, both in the sand and on the green soil, on the hills 
as in the plains, as well on every little shrub as also climbing 
towards the tops of high cedars, that I think in all the world the 
like abundance is not to be found; and myself having seen 
those parts of Europe that most abound, find such difference as 
were incredible to be written." And again he calls it a "goodlie 
land, the fragrance of which, as they drew near the land was as 
if they had been in the midst of some delicate garden, abound- 


ing in all manner of odoriferous flowers." The county of Dare 
perpetuates the name of Virginia Dare, who, the first American 
of European parentage, was born on Roanoke Island and named 
Virginia in honor of the Queen. The failure and mysterious 
end of Sir Walter Raleigh's two colonies may be better known 
facts of history than that the first battle with the British was 
fought at Alamance in this State, in 1771 ; or that the first Pro- 
vincial Cougress assembled in its own right at New Bern in 
1774; or that the first Declaration of Independence was adopted 
at Mecklenburg on May 20, 1775. No backward step has 
marred our course. As one of our poets has said, 

" The land we love is an heroic land 
From its mountains to the sea." 

France. — The foreign wars of France are firstrate pastime 
to keep off thought and talk of cholera. The question of chang- 
ing the constitution works quietly, if it works at all. Her 
national debt is the largest of any nation, and she is coining 
Mexican money to pay for the Chinese war; yet she must have 
wealth in reserve, judging by the magnificent present she has 
just made us. Her first India was snatched away by England 
and now Madagascar, which might be as a second, prefers to be 
independent. The Hovas are fighting bravely, are importing 
Remington rifles, and providing against a long contest. Their 
eastern coast is still jealously guarded by the enemy. China is 
far from making peace on terms that may cost her one of the 
fairest tea-growing districts in the Empire. Formosa is well 
worth owning for other advantages besides its tea trade; so it is 
not likely that China will consent to a five years' occupation by 
the French of Ke Lung and Tarn Sui, with which footholds 
France could permanently retain the Island. The Chinese seem 
able to cope with France on land, but not at sea. Xow that 
France has seized Formosa, she may keep it if she will, and the 
natives would gladly exchange China's oppression for her just 
rule. However, both sides are thinking of mediation. America 
has offered hers and it has been refused. France has accepted 



England's, and China may do so too unless she chooses rather 
that of Russia. The Chinese government was in the wrong not 
to notify the ports that were to have paid the indemnity; and 
the French showed distrust, not to say impatient haste, in shell- 
ing the town that refused to pay. Nine times out of ten distrust 
is mistaken, and it is an old saying that a hasty deed brings 
long repentance. No wonder that the Chinese are exasperated 
after the merciless destruction of their fleet at Foo Chow and 
the bombardment of the helpless villages. When a Christian 
nation stoops to such barbarities, can we be surprised at the out- 
rages of a heathen mob? The Emperor does his best to protect 
foreigners, punishing severely all offending subjects. He encour- 
ages the soldiers only to fight against their lawful foe. Chinese 
troops do not rush into the jaws of death even for the glory of 
dying for their country. They are waiting now for reinforce- 
ments. The French situation in Tonquin is perilous. France, 
loath to lose the Red River section, will continue preparations 
for war until the Chinese leave Tonquin; and the Chinese may 
intend to stay there until Admiral Courbet breaks up his block- 
ade around Formosa. 

Torpedoes. — While so many other nations are troubled with 
wars internal or foreign, we are living in peace. We must not 
therefore imagine ourselves secure. Our national defences are 
not what they ought to be ; for we have neither navy to keep the 
foe away nor forts to prevent his landing. The question is, which 
shall be attended to first, the navy or the forts'? We must do 
something to maintain the respect of other nations. The public 
complains of mismanagement in the bureaus, of large expendi- 
ture and nothing to show for it. But Admiral Porter points out 
in his last report that the naval outlay has been small com- 
pared with that of other great nations, and that it has been used 
in the payment of debts and in keeping up the navy, there not 
being enough for advancement. We need, he says, monitors 
and torpedo-boats especially. We own but one torpedo-boat, 
whereas England and France have each several hundred. The 
latter country is making direful use of them on the Chinese 


frontier. A Frenchman has all the daring requisite to handle a 

torpedo, but a Chinaman none of the courage requisite to face 
one. The French are decidedly in favor of the torpedo. One of 
their leading journals even states that the spirit of chivalric 
valor will be revived by the new mode of warfare, that it will be 
a "title of glory to have commanded a torpedo-boat or to have 
belonged to its crew." The following translation from the afore- 
said journal may be found interesting: 

" The invention of the torpedo, this formidable engine, has produced a complete 
revolution in the art of naval war. All the old tactics are destroyed and as, on 
the whole, no decisive trial has been made — since the great maritime powers have 
engaged in no war iu which torpedoes could play a part — people think that 
when you discuss the relative value of divers fleets, 3'ou discuss the unknown. 

This question agitates also not only the maritime world, but the press and all 
the public. Read the remarkable articles in the Temps, in the Debats, in the Revue 
politique et litte'raire, in the Journal de la Navigation, in the Yacht, in the Revue 
Maritime et Coloniale, iudeed in all the large or special journals, and you will see 
how uneasy the maritime world is at the advent of this new combatant, which 
overturns at a single blow all the traditions of the past. 

And, in fact, the torpedo-boat makes a deep and mysterious impression on the 
seamen themselves, of which the following passage from the pamphlet that M. 
Gougeard has just published, the Marine de guerre — Cuirasses et Torpilleurs, is a 
striking proof : 

"It is quite curious and instructive," says the aged minister of marine, "to 
study, as much as one can in a sham fight, the moral state of the crew of 
an iron-clad who know that, during the night, they will be attacked by a torpedo. 
Even while the moon is on the horizon and they know that the torpedo will not 
yet appear, they are in an evident state of nervous excitement. Preparations are 
made for the night but no one has retired to rest; every one is anxious, search- 
ing the horizon and explaining the least noise. 

"Then the moon disappears, every spot is cleared for the combat, and the anx- 
iety redoubles. At last the watch signal the enemy and open upon him a fire of 
grape-shot. From this moment until when the weapon strikes, the anxiety of all 
is truly piercing and shows itself iu obvious symptoms. 

"To suspect the enemy — and such an enemy — so near! To ask one's self if 
unobserved he is not already within reach of the torpedo ! To succumb with- 
out power of defense, without having tired a gun ! Then, all of a sudden, a 
grey point appears in the distance. It seems as if the touch of a magic wand had 
transformed all in the face of a known danger: each one regains his composure 
and presence of mind." 

This indefinable but piercing emotion is illustrated by the dramatic account of 
the attack of an iron-clad by a torpedo-boat, given by a sailor friend of ours. 

" ' The combat is begun. The ships of the squadron have opened fire. Shells rain 
on all sides. One of our cruisers, cannonaded at starboard by a fort of twelve 
Krupp guns, is attacked at larboard by a hostile iron-clad. Already it has under- 
gone heavy damages and its position becomes critical. A signal mounts the mast 


of Llie Admiral's vessel and the torpedo-boat sets out. The enemy, on the alert, sees 
the movement. He knows the danger that threatens him and immediately con- 
centrates all his fire upon this little grey speck which advances rapidly towards 
him. Three miles separate them and it takes the torpedo-boat but ten minutes to 
skim them. If it is not sunk before having traversed this distance, the iron-clad 
is lost. The cannoniers aim their pieces with minute care. The first shells pass 
rather wide, but the aim is rectified and now they fall so near the torpedo-boat 
that they throw water on its deck. There is oue which falls right in front. A 
column of water ten inches high conceals the torpedo-boat ; the enemy believes it 
sunk and shouts an immense hurrah! But the projectile has rebounded and 
passed over it. The water falls in showers and the brave little boat appears 
streaming with water as if it had come from the bottom of the sea, and still run- 
ning with all its swiftness in the face of a new threat of death. 

'There are nine in all on- board this little boat and they are going to attack a 
leviathan that bears a numerous crew. It is not a struggle of one against ten, 
but of one against a hundred. 

' Not a word is uttered outside necessary orders. These men whom the finger of 
death touches are silent and reserved. And do not think that they are careless of 
danger. On the contrary they think only of that. But, understand me, it is not 
a question of their skin, but of the success of their undertaking. The torpedo 
must bite the sides of the enemy's vessel and our cruiser must be disengaged. 
Afterwards, if they sink, so much the worse ! 

'Every eye is fixed, ever3' nerve strained towards attaining the goal. There 
remain but live hundred metres. The grape-shot is mingled with bombs and 
sweeps the deck. All that is of wood is shattered by the long-barrelled mus- 
kets. A Are of musketry comes from the tops of the enemy's masts, and the balls, 
passing through the rare openings, have already disabled three men. They are 
lying in the corner whither the}' have dragged themselves; for no one has 
leisure to think of them, and no one can attend to the wounded within the two 
minutes in which the fate of all shall be decided. 

' The torpedo-boat is about to hit the iron-clad. The success of the expedition 
is assured, for the tiring of shells is powerless at so short a. distance. The mus- 
ketry cannot sink the torpedo-boat, it can only kill people, and that is not in ques- 

' It is now that the captain must have a quick eye and cool blood, that the 
men must execute orders with the rapidity of lightning, for the torpedo hurled 
a second too soon will fail of its blasting effect, and if you are a second too late 
the little boat will dash itself, with giddy swiftness, against the side of its pow- 
erful adversary. 

'It almost touches the enemy's ship. The hand grenades rebound exploding. 
A man is killed, the captain receives a horrible wound in the face, but bearing up 
with a sublime effort, clinging against the wall, he still remains standing. Livid, 
covered with blood, tremendous in calmness and courage, his eye fixed steadily 
upon the enemy: — 

— ' Attention ! Fire ! ! ' 

'The terrible engine is hurled. An enormous billow rises, a sinister cracking 
is heard, followed by a terrible cry of distress. The pigmy has conquered the 
giant ! 

' Hard starboard ! ' — and the little vessel, quickly revolving, departs at full 
speed while the iron-clad enemy sinks beneath the waves. 


' Ten minutes after, the destroyer is again at its post beside the flag-ship and 
the Admiral summons the captain to congratulate him. They bring him on a 
litter. During this time the fight continues. Another effort may be necessary. 
Quickly they select a provisional .captain and four men to complete the little crew, 
and the torpedo-boat is ready to fulfil a second mission : it has just taken on 
board new heroes.' " 

England. — England has her hands fall. Thousands of 
pounds must be devoted weekly to the relief of Gen. Gordon, 
and an expedition to Beehuana-laud must be fitted out. The 
Congo Conference must be looked after, Russia and the 
cholera watched. In addition to foreign and colonial matters, 
there are the stirring home-questions of Fair-trade and Reform. 
Fair-trade, or low tariff, is what we wish if we cannot get free- 
trade, or no tariff. Free-trade, however, is so firmly estab- 
lished in England that to abolish it there is as difficult as to 
introduce it here. The first Reform, that of the Franchise, was 
proposed last March ; but was met with the demand for a second ; 
namely, Redistribution of Seats. The object of the Franchise 
Bill is to raise the rural districts to equal voting privilege with 
the boroughs. This in the mining and manufacturing counties, 
would introduce an immense number of voters, really urban in 
character, that would swamp agricultural voters. The balance 
thus destroyed can be restored by the Redistribution Bill, which 
increases the Parliamentary representation of the counties. Hence 
the House of Lords refused to pass the Franchise Bill unless the 
Redistribution Bill were sent up at the same time. But the 
House of Commons disliked the Redistribution Bill because it 
would not return some of them to Parliament, and the Govern- 
ment said that reallotment of seats would be impossible until the 
Franchise Bill had become law. Moreover if the Redistribution 
Bill, brought forward first, should fail, the Franchise Bill would 
suffer the same fate. As neither House would yield, there was a 
dead-lock, nor did the Peers seem at all alarmed at the reform 
demonstrations and abolition threats. So much for the sum- 
mer sessions. On October 23, Parliament was assembled for the 
special purpose of passing the Franchise Bill. Other questions 
being allowed to creep in, nothing decisive took place until 


November 1 7, when a private conference of the hostile leaders 
was decided upon. Mr. Gladstone and Lord Salisbury at length 
made a satisfactory compromise and .the Franchise Bill was 
passed. Having received the royal assent, it became a law on 
December 6. The Upper House has gained its point and is 
elated. Parliament has adjourned until February 10, when the 
Redistribution Bill will be brought forward to its trial. 

The Soudan. — The policy of Gladstone in the Soudan, so far 
as divulged, is very different from that which we can readily 
imagine Beaconsfield would have chosen. Gladstone's continual 
cry is " Peace, Peace," and much is sacrificed to his conservatism 
in this respect. Whatever Beaconsfield led the English into he 
always brought them out with a goodly spoil. He was like 
Jack Horner who "put in his thumb and pulled out a plum." 
Now Gladstone's thumb is apt to miss the plum, or rather his 
only plum is Peace. He and his cabinet after long delay have 
actually sent Lord Wolseley to bring General Gordon home. 
They may find that Gordon himself will have something to say 
to that. If the Soudanese remain as faithful as heretofore, we 
cannot think for an instant that General Gordon will leave 
them unless provision be made by the English for the sure sup- 
port of the Mudir of Dongola as their head. 

Feeling ran high in England at the virtual desertion of the 
brave general during the months of inactivity in the Gladstone 
Cabinet. The inquiry on every hand was, " What is the Min- 
istry going to do? Surely it cannot leave General Gordon to be 
massacred." At last that ministry has deigned to acquaint 
the public with its intentions. Meantime events have not stood 
still, and it is a blot on England that she has allowed many of 
her brave men to perish by the hands of the barbarians while 
she has been quietly debating the question whether Gordon and 
Stewart needed any assistance, whether she had not given them 
sufficient force at the outset. It seems a shameful desertion, and 
now she desires to bring Gordon home ! If it be true that he is 
shut up in Khartoum, surrounded by 100,000 rebels, the present 
costly relief expedition may very probably be too late. Some 


messengers state, however, that, if the supplies are sufficient, Gor- 
don will be able to hold out for two years. Then let England 
see that they are sufficient, or that the hero is brought away with 

Two rumors are abroad that may possibly have some relation 
to each other. One is that the Egyptians are secretly negotiating 
with the Mahdi ; the other, that if Gordon be taken he will not 
be killed but be held as a hostage for Arabi. Should these 
reports prove true England may have a hard time to hold even 
the Suez Canal. At present she has Dongola, called "the key to 
Egypt " ; but should the Egyptians, led by Arabi, be allied with 
the Mahdi, all the ground gained near the sources of the Nile 
may not improbably be wrested from her, and Egypt itself become 
the seat of a strong African power well able to close the gates of 
England's highway to India. On the other hand, if the English 
are able to maintain possession or control of Dongola, they may 
easily retain their present power in Egypt. This, with England's 
influence in the International State Association, must make the 
British Empire first in Africa, as it will keep her first in Asia. 

Casualties. — The period of casualties mentioned in our Feb- 
ruary issue of the Muse seems not yet ended. 1884 has seen 
business failures, physical disturbances, and serious accidents. 
Many of the failures have been among " cotton-men." Every- 
where, alas ! have been defalcations. Prominent firms, such as 
Grant & Ward, have failed not because of the lack of trade, but 
solely on account of the dishonesty of their members. Many 
instances of this kind might be cited. 

Among physical disturbances may be mentioned the earthquake 
that was felt along the Atlantic sea-board from Maine to Mary- 
land. The shock was most severe in New York city, where it 
lasted about fifty-five seconds. The elephant upholding the 
earth must have thought that the "Bears" of Wall street needed 
rousing for the coming election. In Sicily a short while ago a 
terrible catastrophe befell Catania and some neighboring villages. 
About midday the heavens above Mt. Etna were overspread 
with black clouds. Fifteen minutes after the evil omen appeared 


the rain began to fall in torrents. The wind howled dismally 
and swept everything before it. The field laborers did not 
receive warning in time to shelter themselves before the hurri- 
cane burst upon them. Scarcely had the storm abated, when 
messengers arrived from Cebali, Borgo, Guardia, and Ognissa stat- 
ing that these towns were entirely destroyed, and that hundreds 
of people were buried beneath the debris. Within the last two 
years Italy has been visited by heavy calamities ; first the great, 
inundations, then the earthquake at Casamicciola, next cholera, 
and now the catastrophe at Catania. 

To the list of last year's misfortunes are added an increase in 
the number of fires, the great overflowing of the Mississippi, the 
late droughts in West Virginia and Kentucky, and the terrible 
advance of cholera. In the first week after the birth of the New 
Year a fire which proved most disastrous to the cotton business of 
Augusta, Georgia, broke out in the warehouse of Phinizy & Co. 
The fire raged for several days, but fortunately did not advance 
beyond the block in which it first appeared. Assistance was 
received from a sister city and the flames w T ere at last extin- 
guished. The ruius were almost immediately replaced by fire- 
proof houses and business was resumed. Our neighbor, Golds- 
boro, has suffered severely from a fire which has swept the town. 
Over twenty-seven houses were destroyed, and other injuries sus- 
tained. The characteristic of this fire seems to have been the 
energy with which the inhabitants set to work to repair the dam- 
ages. Scarcely were the flames extinguished when new buildings 
were seen rising on the site of the old ones. This is what may 
be called courage. It seems to be one of the leading elements of 
Goldsboro and that which has raised it into a prosperous town. 
A more disastrous fire than either of the two mentioned visited 
Carthage, New York, on October 2 1st. It originated in some 
manufacturing buildings and a heavy wind rising blew the sparks 
for half a mile, carrying the fire into the resident part of the 
town. The flames burst out in a hundred places at once, and 
crossed the river itself. The combined fire departments of 
Watertown, Lowville, Boonville and Utica could not control 


it. The Carthage fire is one of the most disastrous that has ever 
ravaged the northern part of Xew York. The losses probably 
amount to $1,000,000. There are not enough dwellings left to 
shelter the inhabitants. The town was extensively engaged in 
manufacturing and now all its industries are ruined. Much, 
however, has been done for the sufferers, and in Watertown 
$1,000 was raised in less than an hour. Many other cities of the 
Empire State have lent a helping hand to their suffering sister. 

Last spring the States bordering on the Mississippi were much 
impoverished by its terrible overflow. Many of the crops were 
destroyed, and travelling was greatly impeded. This fall much 
suffering has been caused in AVest Virginia and Kentucky bv a 
scourge of entirely opposite character. The droughts which 
have been felt throughout the Southern States have been more 
distressing in these two than elsewhere. The water has been so 
low in some places that the people have been obliged to bring it 
from great distances; and oftentimes mineral water has predom- 
inated to such an extent that the water has been transformed into 
a virulent poison. The disease caused by this poison is prevail- 
ing among; animals as well as among men, the victim dying 
within a few hours of drinking. The rains have greatly lessened 
the sufferings, and it is to be hoped that the Xew Year will see 
the end of so dire a calamity. 

The steady march of cholera from Asia, its appearance in 
Italy, and lately its development in Paris have led us to look for 
the dreadful pestilence in this countrv during the coming vear. 
Every effort is being made to keep the disease away, but the 
movement of cholera seems to be always westward. During the 
past summer the disease has raged furiously in Italy, Spain, and 
Southern France. Within the past few weeks it has made its 
dreaded appearance in the French capital. It is only in the 
slums of Paris that the epidemic has raged. AVe can have no 
conception of the condition of these, even the poor quarters 
of Xew York and London are not to be compared with them. 
It is said that some parts of Paris are really not habitable, that 
the air is so foul as to literally poison the people. Cholera had 


been in Paris for some time before it was discovered. The first 
development of the malady known to the public was in the 
Breteuil Hospital. The action of the French Health-Bureau has 
been so prompt that the pestilence is already checked. 

Quarantines have been raised in our own great sea-ports and 
every precaution has been taken to keep away the enemy. 
Cholera in America would probably be more widely fatal 
than "Yellow Fever," spoken of by one of our contributors, as 
its circuit is not limited by climate. 


Indian Idylls from the Sanscrit of The Mahabharata. — 
When Sir William Jones, then a clerk in the East India 
Company, set to work to decipher the Sanscrit language, he 
little dreamed of the vast field of literature he was laying open 
to the world. Since he made known the existence of India's 
collossal poems, others, inspired by his interest in the newly- 
discovered language, have given us, bit by bit, fragments from 
these thitherto unexplored mines. Thus the echoes of glorious 
songs of a world unknown, yet bound to us by a close, though 
long-forgotten tie, reach us, telling of its Rishis, its gods, Indra, 
the Ruler of the Heavens, and Om, the mysterious one God, 
holy, immutable, and true, the Ruler of the World. As we read, 
the beauty of these legends, the birth-right of a people upon 
whom, in our ignorance, we have looked with contempt, forces 
itself upon us; and we are obliged to confess that the songs of 
the ancient Hindus put to shame the works of this wonderful 
nineteenth century, of which we are so proud. 

Several legends of the Mahabharata have already been given 
us, but to all who have once felt the charm of the Indian tale, 
re-reading them will only be a new pleasure. The collection 
before us is Mr. Edwin Arnold's. He introduces it in the 
words of Milton: — 


"The leaf was darkish and had prickles on it 
But in another country, as lie said — 
Bore a bright golden flower, if not in this." 

In his' hands the leaf unfolds into a flower, almost as bright 
as in its native soil. We feel ouselves drawn within the magic 
spell that these sacred legends exercised upon the devout Hindu. 
"To him the reading, or even hearing them read, was sufficient 
to drive away all sin, produce wisdom and bring him happiness 
both in this world and the next." The reading is not this to us, 
yet something wonderful springs up in our minds akin to the 
reverence and trust underlying the actions of the characters so 
beautifully portrayed by the ancient poet. 

We cannot but he struck with the spirit of perfect faith, love, 
and obedience pervading each of the poems, especially "Savitri 
or Love and Death" and "Nala and Damayanti." Savitri, the 
beautiful daughter of a "Raja, pious minded and just," even 
though warned by divine Narada, that the young prince Sat- 
yavan must die on a fixed day, makes him her husband and goes 
with him to his distant home "midst forest peace," there to win 
all hearts by her gentle ways and piety. But always in her 
happy life "the words of Narad, those dreadful words" ring in 
her ears, warning her of the approach of the day of doom. 
Determined if possible to avert her husband's death, she 
follows him to the forest and awaits what may come. The tri- 
umph of love even over Yama, the dreadful god of death, is 
the reward of her devotion. 

In Darnayanti's search for Nala, the ancient poet, as every 
true poet must, has shown his sympathy with nature. Perhaps 
it is best seen in Darnayanti's heart-broken appeal to all the 
inhabitants of the forest, to aid her in her search for her lord. 
Deserted, yet not desolate, for in every creature she finds a 
friend, she calls fearlessly upon different dwellers in the gloomy 
depths, and even dares to speak to the "Yellow forest king, his 
great jaws armed with fourfold fangs." 

The tiger answereth not; 
He tunns, and quits me in my tears, to stalk 
Down where the river glitters through the reeds, 
Seeking its seaward way. Then will I pray 


Unto you, sacred mount of clustered crags, 
Broad-shouldered, shining, lifting high to heaven 
Its diverse-colored peaks, where the mind climbs, 
Its hid heart rich with silver veins, and gold, 
And stored with many a precious gem unseen. 
Clear towers it o'er the forest, broad and bright 
Like a green banner; and the sides of it 
House many a living thing, — lions and boars, 
Tigers and elephants, and bears and deer. 
Softly around me from its feathered flocks 
The songs ring, perched upon the kinsuk trees, 
The asokas, vakuls, and punnaga boughs, 
Or hidden in the karnikara leaves, 
And tendrils of the dhava or the fig; 
Full of great glens it soars, where waters leap 
And bright birds lave. This king of hills I sue 
For tidings of my lord." 

The Hindu poet, able to embrace in one swift glance the lofty 
snow-crowns of the Himalayas, their sides fringed with green 
forests and the valleys abounding in the luxuriant vegetation of 
the tropics, has succeeded in combining beauty and grandeur in 
a harmony unsurpassed. Mountain, forest, jungle and valley 
are as one vast picture, not a detail of which is wanting. 

While showing in each of these legends wonderful imagina- 
tion and a true love of nature, in "The Enchanted Lake" Vyasa 
displays a deep knowledge of humanity. Yudhistira's answers 
to the riddles propounded to him by the Yaksha, embody a wis- 
dom equalled, only in the Proverbs of Solomon. Thus, to the 
Yaksha's question, — ■ 

Which of virtues is the first? and which bears most fruit? 
and which causeth the ceasing of tears?" the sage replies, — 

" To bear no malice is the best ; 
And reverence is the fruitfullest, 
Subduing self sets grief at rest." 

Again the spirit of the waters asks: 

"Still, tell me what foeman is worst to subdue? 
And what is the sickness lasts life-time all through ? 
Of men that are upright, say which is the best? 
And of those that are wicked, who passeth the rest ?" 


"Anger is man's unconquered foe ; 
Tlie ache of greed doth never go ; 
Who loveth most of saints is first ; 
Of bad men, cruel men are worst." 

Need we be surprised to find here thoughts corresponding to 
those contained in the Hebrew Proverbs? Had not the sages of 
India the same great source of inspiration? 

The most touching of these legends, "The Birth of Death," 
again brings before us the perfect obedience, already noticed in 
some of the others. Death, in the form of a beautiful woman, 
the creation of Brahma's hand, -is sent forth to slay "all that 
must die." Pleading in vain to be spared such a mission, she 
goes forth fearing to disobey her Creator, fearing still more the 
pain of taking even one life, and seeks by prayers and penances 
to evade her task. Again she is summoned, weeping, before her 
Lord, who, pitying her grief and beauty, spares her the guilt of 
taking with her own hand the lives of dying creatures, but still 
refuses to release her from obedience: — 

"'Go, fair child! 

Fulfill My purpose, make death enter so ; 
Thou shalt be blameless now and evermore. 
See! the bright tears that fell upon My hand 
From forth thine eyes, I turn to woes of flesh, 
Which shall consume them, — aches, diseases, griefs — 

Born of thy sorrow these shall smite, but, born 
Of thy compassion, these shall heal with peace 
When the day cometh that each one must die. 
Fear not! thou shalt be innocent; thou art 
The solace, as the terror, of all flesh, 
Righteous and rightful, doing Brahma's will.' 

" So, ever since that time, 
Mrityu, no longer thinking to resist, 
Works the great will of God, and slays what lives, 
Taking the breath of creatures at life's close; 
Not with her own kind hand; she doth not kill! 
By ills and pests and hurts which evil breeds — 
As many as those tender tears that rolled 
From forth her eyes — they perish." 


Roadside Songs of Tuscany. — Ruskin has lately added 
one more to the many good works which he has wrought in be- 
half of Art. Under his supervision appeared last summer and 
the summer before two little books, of which one, " The Story of 
Lucia," was the first of a series, " Road-side Songs of Tuscany." 
As they appeared before the public under so distinguished pat- 
ronage, they could not tail to attract attention from lovers of Art, 
and they were found to be well worth notice. 

The talent of the authoress, Francesca Alexander, is shown in 
a threefold form: as an editor, in collecting and translating the 
folk-lore of Tuscany; as an author, in selecting and narrating the 
true story which illustrates each poem j and as an artist. It is as 
an artist that she excels. The beautiful drawing which accom- 
panies each song, regarded in merely an artistic light, is exquis- 
itely done and shows great power and delicacy of execution ; but, 
considered in relation to the story, it becomes a revelation. Each 
faintest shade of character is caught and clearly represented in 
the portrait. The frontispiece to the " Story of Ida," " Sunset," 
tells us better than words how pure and true must have been the 
life of the young girl who could meet death so peacefully and 

There is nothing either in " The Story of Ida" or " The Story 
of Lucia," which accompanies the poem of Santa Zita, to please 
the general public, no depth of plot or striking adventure; but 
they are the short, simple histories of pure, good lives, and, as 
such, are very beautiful. Idylls in prose we may call them, for 
they will please all lovers of Nature and Nature's children. Lucia 
is only a faithful, hard-working farm-servant, and the story of Ida 
is the old, old story of too trusting innocence and betrayed love. 
They are told simply and pathetically ; they are true, and truth 
always appeals to the heart. 

Ben-Hue. — Gen. Lew Wallace who in the several capacities 
of soldier, historian, and foreign minister to Turkey has won 
honor and fame, now appears before the world in the new role of 
novelist. His first attempt, "The Fair God," would have raised 
him above the average fiction- writer, and his last, "Ben-Hur," 


has proved him to be of great talent. The plot of "Ben-Hur; 
or a Tale of the Christ," as its name shows, is laid in Judea 
about the time of Our Saviour's Nativity, and is connected with 
scenes in His life. The story as a whole is well-managed, the 
interest of the reader being unflaggingly sustained until the end, 
and increasing to the most intense excitement when the great race, 
the decisive point in the fate of the hero, is reached. 

Gen. Wallace possesses in the highest degree that quality so 
essential to the novelist, sympathy. He throws himself com- 
pletely into his characters, lie makes of them living men and 
women, with whom he feels. He is equally at home with the 
loving, passionate Ben-Hur, and the cold, mocking Messala. 
All the bitter animosity existing between the conqueror and the 
conquered, the vast difference between the Roman and the Jew- 
ish nature, we read in the conversation which took place in the 
garden at the opening of the book, and the effect is heightened 
by the artist-skill which brings into such striking opposition the 
different characteristics of these two men. The unwillingness on 
the part of the young Jew to believe in the treachery of one 
whom he thought his friend, although a Roman and therefore a 
national enemy, is strongly contrasted with the sneering scorn 
and cynical disbelief with which Messala regards the open, can- 
did character of Ben-Hur. The generosity of a noble nature, 
once deceived yet still willing to forgive, speaks in Ben-Hur's 
passionate appeal to Messala to save his mother and sister when 
he is taken captive, and all the cold cruelty which distinguishes 
the Roman nation breaks out in the reply of his triumphant 
enemy-^-Down Eros, up Mars! The female characters are no 
less perfectly worked out. The beautiful Tirzah and gentle 
Esther are worthy descendants of Ruth, and the fair Egyptian 
may be considered a specimen of that nation which had Cleo- 
patra for queen. 

But the genius of the author is shown especially in description 
and the peculiar charm of this book is due to the power and 
kind of his imagination. It is not the imagination which can 
be found every day, it is a higher and unusual development of 


that faculty. By it, he is enabled to see with the mind's eye and 
make us see, events, scenes, and countries which the bodily eye 
has never witnessed. Ben-Hur abounds in descriptions which 
have rarely been equalled. Each trifling object, every minute 
detail of dress and scenery is perfectly represented. It is like 
seeing under a brilliant light objects that had before been viewed 
only in the dusk. The following description of the country 
around the village of Daphne is a fair example of Gen. Wal- 
lace's power: 

"Beyond the village the country was undulating and cultivated ; in fact, it was 
the garden-land of Antioeb, with not a foot lost to labor. The steep faces of the 
hills were terraced; even the hedges were brighter for the trailing vines which, 
besides the line of shade, offered passers-by sweet promises of wine to come, and 
grapes in purple clustered ripeness. Over inelon-patches, and through apricot and 
fig-tree groves, and groves of oranges and limes, the white-washed houses of the 
farmers were seen ; and everywhere Plenty, the smiling daughter of Peace, gave 
notice by her thousand signs that she was at home, making the generous traveller 
merry at heart, until he was even disposed to give Eome her dues. Occasionally, 
also, views were had of Tamus and Lebanon, between which, a separating line of 
silver, the Orontes placidly pursued its way." 

This peculiar imagination is essentially the mark of a poet 
nature; George Eliot, who was poet as well as novelist, showed 
it in her novels; her description of Florence has never been 
surpassed. We can fancy ourselves standing by the Spirit and 
looking over to " the dark sides of Mt. Moreller," and the "steep 
heights of Filsole with its crown of monastic walls and cypresses." 
Milton, the loftiest of poets, possessed this quality pre-eminently. 
The beauty and reality of his description of Athens, "the city 
on the iEgean shore," where "flow'ry hill Hymettus invites to 
studious musing," and "Illissus rolls his whispering stream," 
make the most perfect word-painting that has ever been given to 
the world. Yet neither Milton nor George Eliot had been to 
Greece or Italy, when these descriptions were written, and it is 
said that Gen. Wallace had not visited the East when he wrote 
Ben-Hur. If the report be true, although Gen. Wallace will 
certainly never equal Milton and may not be able to compete 
with George Eliot, yet he 'as the poet's vision and may in the 
future be known not only as historian and novelist, but also as 


The Baby's Grandmother. — It is very seldom that we find 
among; the novels of to-day one that may be called original. 
Novelists in general seem to have fallen into a rut and to be 
unable to get out again. We read of beautiful young girls and 
handsome young lovers, of stern parents and stupid misunder- 
standings until we are willing to try anything else for a change. 
Xow Mrs. Walford furnishes us with a change, and a very 
pleasant one. It is decidedly an original idea to have a grand- 
mother for the heroine of a love-story and one which we there- 
fore appreciate fully, but the novelty of the book does not end 
here; we are surprised and delighted by the freshness of each new 
scene. Lady Matilda, the Baby's Grandmother, is one of those 
impulsive, generous women we can but admire. Her brilliant 
and radiant wit, her daring and contempt of what everybody 
will say, form a strong contrast to the priggishness of Lotta and 
Robert, her daughter and son-in-law. Robert's character may be 
best described in Matilda's own words : "To coquet with Robert 
is like trying to dance around a tombstone." A clear idea of 
the contents of this book, however, the attractiveness of the 
heroine, the blended weakness and strength of the hero, the 
nature of the plot, and the charming style of the authoress, may 
be gained from a review in the October Eclectic. The writer 
expresses the sentiments of many when he speaks of "the charm 
and delightsomeness of a book as fresh and dewy as a June 

But there is one point which the reviewer omits, one that does 
much to make the story what it is. He shows us the external 
side of Lady Matilda's character; her brilliancy, talents and 
numerous whims and fancies, her half contempt for Robert 
Ilanwell, her scorn of Whewell, and her deep, passionate love for 
Challoner; hut he neglects to mention that trait which makes her 
nature so essentially womanly — her forgetfulness of self. We 
perceive it constantly in every act and thought, in the exquisite 
tact with which she endeavors to hide her brother Overton's 
stupidity, in her forgiveness of Challoner's weakness, which would 
have too deeply wounded the vanity of most women, and, above 


all, in the love which she bore her poor, let us not say half- 
witted but "innocent" brother Teddy. The protecting, almost 
motherly, care with which she shields and guides him, weaning 
him lovingly yet firmly from all evil influences; the depend- 
ence, so pathetic in a man, of poor Teddy upon his sister; his 
pitiful perplexity and helplessness when separated from her, all 
combine to form the most beautiful part of the book. 

Many heroines are given to dissecting their emotions and 
holding them up for public admiration. Lady Matilda does 
nothing so commonplace. In entire unconsciousness she attracts 
by an intrinsic charm rather than by any effort of her own. It 
is this utter absence of everything commonplace about the prin- 
cipal character that constitutes the interest of the book and makes 
us lay it aside with a refreshed feeling, anticipating with pleasure 
the next production of the author. 

Two Volumes of the Census. — We are indebted to Gen. 
Cox for kindly sending us Vols. VII and VIII of the Tenth 
Census of the United States. 

Each of these books is a study in its way. Vol. VIII con- 
tains an account of newspapers and other fruits of the press, 
of ship-building, and an interesting description of Alaska. The 
report from Alaska by Ivan Petroff is at once a Geography, a 
History both Natural and Political, and a Fashion-plate. Many 
fine cuts and maps accompany each department and impress 
upon our minds more strongly than words the nature and occu- 
pations of our newly-acquired fellow-countrymen. From the 
colored plates representing the dress and appearance of the 
Alaskans, we judge that they stand very low in the scale of 
humanity; their countenance is something like that of the negro 
and already shows the brutalizing effect of intoxicating liquors 
introduced by unscrupulous traders. Hunting the fur, seal, and 
walrus is their principal occupation. The natural history of 
Alaska is made more interesting by pictures of the different birds 
and animals found there, and especially of the seal. The little, 
fat seals have a very droll expression as if they were conscious 
of sitting for their photographs. We are apt to think of Alaska 


as a land of ice and snow, but this is a mistaken idea. Colored 
plates show us beautiful landscapes of silvery lakes embedded in 
soft green hills, and one especially of a portion of the Yukon 
river filled with tall grass, through which with difficulty a 
canoe makes its way. Vol. VII contains a full account of the 
national debt of the United States, with a brief mention of the 
debts of other countries. The study of this book lends a deeper 
significance to the question, What is the world coming to? 
According to the latest accounts, the national debt of the world 
at present is $25,000,000,000 ; and if it goes on increasing as it has 
done since 1848, that is at the rate of §489,335,079 annually, at 
the end of the present century it will amount to $32,583,781,254. 
What will it be at the end of the next century? We leave that 
for greater minds to answer. A profound review of this book 
may be found in the last Nation, by those who care for a scientific 
description of its contents; but there is another light in which 
it may be seen. Regarded as an example of object-teaching, it 
is a complete success. Endless occupation and no doubt endless 
instruction are furnished to every one who tries to understand 
the numerous diagrams meant to illustrate the subject. Pink and 
blue pyramids constructed on any principles other than geometric, 
concentric circles, different-colored squares, and triangles within 
triangles are unquestionably very simple and interesting to those 
who have the "Open Sesame," but to the uninitiated they are 
somewhat perplexing. It was an ingenious mind that invented 
these puzzles, and the only trouble is that they require an equally 
ingenious mind to solve them. 

The late " Harper's" contain an unusual number of interest- 
ing articles. The several departments of History, Science, Travel, 
and Art have been so well represented that it is difficult to make 
a selection. We were especially attracted, however, by an article 
entitled "The Great Hall of William Rufus" ; for our interest 
in this subject had been awakened by the lecture which Mr. Curr 
delivered here two years ago, and greatly increased by the study 
of "Greene." This short sketch of the founding and history of 
Westminster Hall gives us in a vivid picture a brief outline of 


English history. The successive steps by which the constitution 
of England has reached its present condition, the rise and fall of 
royalty, and the rise and fall of the Commonwealth are here por- 

Among the many romantic and historic incidents which clus- 
ter around this venerable building, the author has shown great 
taste and judgment in choosing the most dramatic and those 
fraught with most importance to the English nation. His 
descriptions are bright, lively, and to the point. Banquets, when 
the Old Hall was graced by the youth, beauty, and chivalry of 
England, are vividly contrasted with solemn trials, when the 
walls looked frowningly down on the prisoner and grim rows of 
lawyers and judges. The spot that witnessed the triumph of 
Anne Boleyn witnessed also her fall a few years later. The 
statues that looked calmly on when the unlawful crown was 
placed on her fair head, heard unmoved the sentence that con- 
demned it to fall beneath the axe of the executioner. 

Other events both sad and gay does the authojj sketch for us 
from the time when William Rufus held his first banquet in his 
then New Hall, to the present day when it has become the 
Assembly Hall for the Parliament of the realm; and in all of 
them should we feel an especial interest, for it is to our English 
forefathers that we must look for the beginning of our national 

From History to Art, from England to Holland, is but a step, 
aud we may take this step by turning over the leaves of our 
magazine until we reach "Artist Strolls in Holland." Those 
who complain of the dry, tedious descriptions written by tourists 
of their European travels, should read this article to find out how 
interesting such description may be made. When we see together 
names as famous as those of Broughton, Abbey and Rogers, we 
expect something better than usual, and in this case we are not 
disappointed. The illustrations and the descriptions are alike 
charming. There is nothing of the catalogue enumerating 
endless names, dates, and unimportant historical facts. We see 
Holland before us damp, dew-drenched, peaceful, and secure, 


but all the while keeping a watchful eye on the mad, hun- 
gry sea. We enjoy very much our saunter over the quaint old 
town of Middleburg and our visit to the famous Town Hall. The 
description of Jacob is especially life-like and Dutchman-like, 

while the mauve-tinted youth excites both our laughter and pity. 
Some day we hope to accompany the artist on another tour. 

To a charming; little sketch of Trouville, a sea-side resort in 
France, we must turn for a view of French life. Here, the 
writer states, all classes of society in Paris flock to spend the 
summer and here we find the portly bourgeoisie side by side with 
the noblesse. The authoress has apparently spent her summer 
at Trouville and kept her eyes open, for not only is the descrip- 
tion of the scenery graphic, her insight into French character is 
most keen. The humorous side of soeiety is shown us and many 
good hits are made on French peculiarities. One of these is on 
the national penchant for Bureaux. From the government of 
Egypt to regulatiug sea-bathing, the French think nothing can 
be done without a Bureau. To quote the words of the authoress, 
"I believe if a Frenchman were cast on a desert island he would 
pick himself up and go in search of the Bureau." 


A Lecture concerning the. Present Condition of the 
Moon. — Prof. Coakley, of the Xew York University, has 
recently delivered a very interesting and original lecture on the 
causes of the present condition of the moon's surface. 

He showed the improbability of Mr. Proctor's theory that all 
the water and atmosphere on the surface of the moon were drawn 
off into vast, interior cavities, and explained that it would more 
naturally be absorbed by the pores of the mass. Assuming that 
the relative amount of water and atmosphere on the surface of 
the moon was in the beginning the same as that on our planet, 
he thinks that in the course of time the earth will be reduced to 
a dead body like its satellite. The earth receives yearly as much 
heat from the sun as it gives out into the surrounding cold space; 
but, since the heat of the sun itself is gradually diminishing, the 
time will come when the earth will give out more heat than it 
receives, and then it will only be a question of centuries as to 

94 ST. MARY'S 31USE. 

when it will be a cold, solid mass. All solid porous masses, when 
they have cooled off, have a tendency to absorb water, and this is 
the case with the earth. It may be thought that the pores of the 
earth will not be able to hold all the water and atmosphere on its 
surface. By chemical analysis it has been proved that the smallest 
amount of water absorbed by any mineral is 9.1 grains to the 
pound, and by close calculation it is found that this power of 
absorption is four times greater than that required by the earth 
to absorb all the water on its surface. 


On Friday morning, November 22d, our Philosophy Class 
had the pleasure of hearing a lecture from Dr. Lewis on " The 
Ear." The lecture was illustrated by a handsome model. 

Dr. Lewis said that the ear was considered under three parts, 
the external, the middle, and the internal ear, and called our 
attention to the fact that he had left the outer or external ear at 
home, as it was very cumbersome and not at all important for the 
lecture. He would give us a few facts concerning it before pro- 
ceeding further. The external ear is called the auricle. It is 
shaped so as best to catch and bring to a focus the waves of 
sound. It is composed principally of cartilage, the only part 
free from this being the lower extremity, which is called the 
lobule. In the lobule there are very few nerves, therefore pierc- 
ing the ear is attended with very little pain, unless the cartilage 
extends lower than usual, and then, if the ear is pierced, serious 
results are apt to follow. This lobule is so capable of being 
extended that heavy ear-rings are destructive to beauty. The 
object of the hollows and elevations on the surface of the exter- 
nal ear is not very apparent. 

Then Dr. Lewis turned the model so that we could see the 
auditory canal. Its natural length is about an inch and a quar- 


ter and its circumference that* of a common crow's quill, though 
in the model it was much larger. As the tube was curved, we 
could not see the tympanum. Dr. Lewis told us that it was of 
great importance to remember this curvature, for in syringing, 
unless the ear were pulled upward so as to straighten the auditory 
canal, the liquid could not reach the tympanum, and thus the object 
would not be accomplished. 

We were then shown by means of the model the resemblance 
between the middle ear and a drum; the tympanum forming 
one head and the fenestra ovalis the other. 

The lecturer detached the tympanum from the ear so that we 
could examine it minutely. It is composed of three layers; the 
first is simply the extension of the skin of the ear, the second is 
the real membrane of the tympanum, and the third is the exten- 
sion of the mucous membrane which covers the throat. The 
representation of the tympanum had the appearance of a ring 
with a translucent substance stretched over it. The tympanum 
is not set vertically in the head, having a forward inclination. 
Some have supposed that the ear for music depended upon the 
amount of this inclination, as it varies greatly in different 
persons. If the tympanum is inclined so as to form an acute 
angle with the auditory canal, it will be struck first at the top 
and then at the bottom by the sound wave, and thus the har- 
mony be lost. Connected with the tympanum is a small muscle 
which serves to tighten and relax it; this answers the same pur- 
pose as the straps to a drum. 

The middle ear, which is filled with air, contains a curious 
apparatus of small bones and muscles which serve to connect the 
tympanum with the entrance to the internal ear. These bones 
were perfectly represented by the model. They are three in 
number and are called the malleus, the incus, and the stapes, 
from a striking resemblance to a hammer, anvil and stirrup. 
The malleus and incus are connected with the tympanum and 
communicate its motion to the stapes, thence it is transferred to 
the membrane forming the entrance to the internal or essential 
part of the organ of hearing. The bottom of the stapes is oval 


in form and just fits the fenestra ovalis. The middle ear also 
contains the eustachian tube which answers to the hole in (he 
side of a drum. When the pressure on the tympanum from the 
outside is too great, the equilibrium is restored by the air passing 
through the eustachian tube. Most of the diseases of the ear 
are introduced by this tube. 

The internal ear, called the labyrinth from its complicated 
structure, is the most interesting. As it is protected by one of 
the hardest bones in the human body, it is almost impossible to 
examine it during life, therefore what is known of it is in a 
great measure supposition, but many of the theories are quite 
plausible. It has a vestibule, cochlea, and semi-circular canals, 
and communicates with the cavity of the tympanum by two 
minute orifices or windows, the fenestra ovalis and the fenestra 
rotuuda, both of which are covered with a membrane; it is 
against the former that the stapes presses. The whole of the 
inner ear is lined with a membrane on which is spread the audi- 
tory nerve. The cochlea and semi-circular canals are surrounded 
by a liquid called the perilymph, and are filled with a fluid of 
nearlv the same nature called the endolymph. The semi-circular 
canals are three in number, and as seen in the model lie in three 
different directions, one horizontally, the other two vertically, 
thus corresponding to the bottom and two adjoining sides of a 
cube. It has been supposed, and with much probability, that 
these aid in establishing the equilibrium of the body. This 
theory has been corroborated by some experiments on pigeons by 
a Frenchman. When the semi-circular canals were removed, the 
pigeons toppled oyer. It was also found by the same experi- 
menter that if the cochlea were removed complete deafness 
ensued, while no effect on the hearing was produced by remov- 
ing the semi-circular canals. The model cochlea resembled 
exactly a snail shell, being a spiral canal which makes two and a 
half turns around a central pillar. Dr. Lewis kindly opened 
this canal, and we saw that it was divided by a thin bone lying 
horizontally in the center, thus forming a miniature shelf. The 
most interesting part of the cochlea is, that on this shelf lie 

-ST. MAR Y'S MUSE. 97 

8,700 small rods which decrease in length with the narrowness 
of the shelf. It is supposed that each one of these rods is 
tuned to a certain key and that, when a sound is produced on the 
same tone, it vibrates in unison. It has been proved that hear- 
ing is aided by these rods by the case of a man who could hear 
high and low sounds, but the intermediate ones were lost to him. 
On his death his ear was examined and it was found that the 
rods on the middle of the shelf had been destroyed by disease. 

We had found the hour very interesting and were delighted 
to learn that we should have another lecture from Dr. Lewis on 
the following Friday. 


The middle of September found a good proportion of us back 
at school prepared for pleasant work in our new studio. Though 
our dear teacher of the last three years is not with us, we are not 
left without a guide for our erring fingers, and our new artist 
with the "poet's locks" has already won our hearts. 

The mantle of the art-chroniclers of last year has fallen upon 
us; we regret that they did not also bequeath us some of their 
descriptive powers. 

During the vacation the East Building was finished. A broad 
flight of steps leads up to the main entrance and into a fine hall. 
On the right is the Preparatory Department, with its slate black- 
boards, on which the "Preps" learn, alas! that 

"Multiplication is vexation, 
Division is as bad, 
The Rule of Three it puzzles me, 
And Fractions drive me mad." 

On the side of the door-way is a gong which one of said 
"Preps" delights to tap every twenty minutes. Children do 
love to make a noise. Opposite the Preparatory Department is 
the Primary. It is furnished with such tiny desks that one 


might almost imagine it a dolls' school-room. The Calisthenic 
hall is on the same floor. It extends the width of the build- 
ing and is decorated with dumb-bells, Indian clubs, rino-s, and 

O 7 j o 7 

straps. From it are heard at all times during school hours the 
measures — one and, two and, three and, four and, accompa- 
nied by strains of the "Marseillaise" and sundry other tunes 
to suit the different postures. The Laboratory, ranged with mys- 
terious crucibles and the air-pump with which only the "philos- 
ophers" may meddle, is at the head of the stairs. Adjoining 
the Laboratory is the Art Room. It extends the whole length 
of the building. The beautiful gothic roof is made of the native 
pine highly oiled and polished. That it was framed by an artist 
is proved by the blending of the light and dark parts of the 
wood. Large windows and sky-lights are so arranged that 
"Father Sol" has free access. The views from the windows 
are lovely; just now the trees have put on their autumnal coats 
and furnish studies in rich color. 

Though so large, the room does not look bare, for, besides the 
many easels scattered about in artistic confusion, there is a goodly 
number of new casts. Among the loveliest are busts of Clytie 
and Sabriua, a Venus de Milo, and masques of Diana and 
Apollo Belvedere. The familiar faces of the old casts bring to 
us remembrances of last year. There are also many fruit, flower, 
and facial pieces for beginners to sigh over. At either end stand 
the bronzes which we have hitherto seen in the parlor, works of 
W. Wolfe of Berlin. They are two groups, one of a boar, the 
other of a stag at bay. Both are beautiful and show well the 
ferocity of the one animal and the timidity of the other. There 
are several of last year's paintings and crayon-drawings on the 
wall. Opposite the door, Don Quixote, in bronze, keeps his 
scowling vigil. 

We should by no means do justice to our art-collection if we 
failed to mention Professor Kilbourne's "Game Fishes." The 
pictures are life-size and true to nature. Many of the different 
species are quite familiar and remind us of happy summers spent 
by the Ocean Wave, and there are others which we promise 


ourselves the pleasure of studying ou some rainy Saturday. Mr. 
Sraedes Las lately added to the art-collection a number of port- 
folios filled with "The Art Treasures of America," beautiful 
India proofs of standard paintings. Among some from the Gib- 
son Collection is "The Old Hotel de Ville, Grenada." This 
brings back our interesting and delightful travels with the Bishop. 
The two pictures, "The Smokers' Rebellion " and "Calling the 
Roll after Pillage," are striking; studies of faces. There are 
many very beautiful things in the collection, but we fear that a 
pen-picture of them would be tiresome, so we only advise our 
readers to seize the first opportunity for a look at them. Our 
art library contains also Dore's Bible Illustrations and those of 
Dante's Purgatorio, Inferno, and Paradiso by the same artist. 

We wish to congratulate our sister schools, Salem Academy 
and Peace Institute, on their large exhibits at the Exposition. In 
the former we noticed especially the ribbon embroidery, and in 
the latter the tapestry attracted the eyes of some of us to whom 
it was comparatively new. There were many interesting paint- 
ings in the Caldwell exhibit. Miss Norwood's "Happy Valley" 
pictured to us Lord Bacon's idea of a cultivated landscape, one 
"framed as much as may be to a natural wildness." Among 
the antique curiosities in Gen. Leventhorpe's collection was a 
copy of the famous "Temperantia" piece of the Louvre. It is a 
large copper tankard and salver. On them in raised figures are 
Faith, Hope, and Charity, each with her appropriate emblems. 
There were also a large silver crucifix and three very old medal- 
lions in this collection. 

Our exhibit, owing to the time of vear, was not large. We 
fear it would sound vain in us to say that it made up in quality 
what it lacked in quantity, but we trust it was so. The brass 
repousse plaques, the lovely maiden picking daisies, some pansies, 
the china, and a number of other articles were arranged most 
artistically in the foreground of the Wake exhibit, where they 
seemed to attract universal attention; for, as our readers may 
have heard, 'The most precious things are held within small 


Now, as Christmas is drawing near, there are many demands 
upon the artists' time and ingenuity. We see visions of delicate 
sachets and tinted cards to send to loved ones at home, and -we 
hope to help not a little towards gaining the money for which 
the Bishop has asked in his mission-work. 

We miss very much some of our most successful artists; but 
their places have been taken by others who promise to gain 
honors in the future. 






J^g"° A Corps of Fourteen Efficient Instructors. Thorough 
teaching guaranteed. French taught by a native; German by 
an American educated in Germany. Latin a requisite for a 
full Diploma. Great attention is paid to Mathematics and 



Separate buildings; five teachers 1 — one from the Stuttgart, 
one from the Leipsic Conservatory; a fine Vocalist; sixteen 
Pianos for daily practice — two new Concert Grands for con- 
cert use; a Cabinet Organ; a fine Pipe Organ, with two 
manuals and twenty stops, and the only Pedal Piano south of 
New York. 


Under the charge of able and enthusiastic artists. The Course 
comprises Drawing in Pencil, Crayon and Charcoal; Painting 
in Oil, Water Colors and Pastel, and Decorating China in 

jggg^The Physical Development of the pupils thoroughly 
cared for. 

The Advent Term Begins January 26, 1885, 

For Circulars containing full particulars, apply to the Rector. 





Vol. VII. 

RALEIGH. N. C, JUNE, 1885. 

No. 2. 



.Sculpture, ) , TT T ■ u » I 101 

, r } Anna H. Lewis, Sen. A > ir .~ 

Valedictory, I ' i lOo 

Little Latin and Less Greek — Julia E. Homer, Sen. A.... 107 

Mrs. Olipitant — Carrie L. Mathewson, Sen. A 112 

Critics and Criticism— Jennie W. Bingham, Sen. B 115 

The First Snow-storm — Nina Homer, Juri. A 122 

A Hamlet (translated from the French) — Annie L. Blackmer, Jim. A, 125 

A Tale of Two Cities and Oliver Twist — Henrietta R. Smedes, 

Jun, A 130 

The Child and the Flower — Eliza M. Skinner, Jim. A 134 

Beaufort Laboratory — Laura Davis, Sen. B 133 

Early Life of Horatio N. Robinson — Margaret F. Busbee, Jnn. B.. 144 

On a Ranch — Leilah T. Higc/ins, Jnn. A 148 

Water-works — Affie Warriner, Jnn. A 153 

The World's Exposition at New Orleans— S. Adelene Wicks, 

Jim. A 157 

Ramona — Altona F. Gales, Jim. A 1G8 

The Legend of the Narcissus — Margaret D. Hinsdale, Prep. A.... 170 
Edward, or the Liar Punished (translated from the French) — 

Laura Carter, Pre|>. A 172 

A Beetle's Thanksgiving Dinner — Martha Haywood, Prep. A 173 

The Story of the Holly -bush and the Oak — Etta S. McVea, 

Prep. B 175 

| E. W. McLean, | 

Editorials — \ H. R. Smedcs, I 177 

( iea!d others, J 

Art-Notes — E. M. Skinner 185 

Roll of Honor 195 

Programmes 19S 



Vol. VII. Raleigh, June, 1885. Xo. 2. 


Had man continued perfect as he was created, there would 
have been no striving after ideal perfection, no endeavor to 
embody in material forms aspirations for a higher state of exist- 
ence. Every attempt would have fallen far below the reality and 
would have seemed paltry, compared to the grand master-piece, 
man, as he came from the hands of his Creator. But when this 
perfection was lost, and the soul borne down by its weight of sin, 
struggled in darkness, God in His divine pity vouchsafed it a 
vision of its former glory. Great men were sent into the world 
to help their fellow-men by showing them somewhat of the per- 
fection which they had lost and thus awakening in them a desire 
to regain it. These benefactors of the human race we call 
geniuses, and the forms in which they embody their aspirations 
are the Fine Arts. Man in his primitive glory might have raised 
art to a far higher state than the present. It would not, how- 
ever, have been consecrated unto his redemption. From the time 
of Jubal and Tubal-cain the world has never been, so far as we 
know, without some one to use this means of grace, to endeavor 
through the senses to stir in the hearts of his fellow-men a yearn- 
ing for better things. 

Of the fine arts sculpture is best fitted for attaining this end, 
partly by its external qualities, partly for a higher reason. Its 
influence is due first of all to its external qualities of reality and 
durability. Music thrills through the air and is gone, the colors 
of the painter crack and grow dim, the work of the architect 


is destroyed by storm, tempest, and earthquake, the soug of the 
poet becomes a dead, forgotten language, but the work of the 
sculptor remains a monument for all generations, and by this 
power of withstanding the forces of nature, awakens in man a 
feeling of awe. Painting, architecture, and sculpture are called 
the three sister arts; partly, perhaps, because they all have some- 
what to do with form. But while painting is the representation of 
form, sculpture is form itself. In gazing at a beautiful picture, 
however life-like the colors, we can never entirely separate it 
from the canvas. With a piece of sculpture it is otherwise, no 
effort is needed to realize it, for it stands by itself, distinct and 
independent. Architecture may be considered as an inferior 
branch of sculpture. The form of architecture is the form crea- 
ted by man, the form of sculpture that created by God. The 
principles of architecture may be suggested by nature, but not 
nature in its loftiest form. And even the temple, the highest 
development of this art, is meant to express no thought; it is but 
the shrine of something holier than itself. We cannot think of 
it, however beautiful, otherwise than as a shapely mass of lifeless 
stone ; the statue, the highest work of the sculptor, is a man, and 
needs but the Divine breath to render it a creature like our- 

But though the external qualities of sculpture render it of all 
fine arts the fittest channel through which man may be influenced, 
the true reason of this influence lies deeper. The admiration and 
sympathy which a grand master-piece of any art inspire in the 
observer have their foundation in a principle common to all man- 
kind — the love of "the good, the beautiful and the true, the 
ethical trinity of the ages." But in sculpture there is a peculiar 
interest, its spirit and that of life are one. 

The beauty of a grand piece of sculpture depends essentially 
on the beauty of the ideal, on the loftiness and loveliness of the 
conception which, when expressed in marble, becomes its soul. 
To conceive clearly any part of man's nature in its highest devel- 
opment requires a depth of thought, a breadth of soul, and a 
grandeur of character able to apprehend somewhat at least of the 


Divine. It requires a high degree of imagination, that fairy 
power which guides the pen of the author, the brush of the 
painter, and even the ruler of the mathematician. The object of 
the sculptor being to carve into stone a noble ideal, there are also 
necessary a wide education, a knowledge of anatomy, and a power 
of delicate handicraft. All these, however, are but means to the 
end; the character of the finished work depends upon the intrin- 
sic beauty of the thought. 

The impression made upon us when a sculptor, drawing aside 
the veil from his statue, reveals it for the first time as a whole, 
perfect in all its parts, yet with the beauty of entire unity, a 
lofty ideal irradiating the countenance, is like only to that expe- 
rienced in studying the life which a great and good man has just 
laid down. The one is a faint but true reflection of the other. 

In life, as in sculpture, the grand aim is the development of 
the ideal. Education, riches, high position, and power are valued 
only as superior instruments. Even imagination and will are 
but higher agents. It is the inspiring presence of an exalted 
ideal that renders the life worthy of admiration and reverence. 

The true value of the ideal, its superiority over the real and 
merely practical is witnessed by the record of ancient times, and 
even of our own practical age. Whether in Letters, Art, or in a 
Life itself, the presence of this subtle essence attracts human love 
and sympathy. No poet has ever produced pleasure and lasting 
effect without being able to project himself into the realm of 
fancy and draw his reader after him. It is the absence of ideal- 
ity which makes the poems of Crabbe so tedious ; it is the uni- 
versal presence of it which renders those of Wordsworth so 
inexpressibly charming, and those of Keats so exquisitely beau- 
tiful. No sculptor who has not that sense of 

"The ideal beauty 
Which the creative faculty of mind 
Fashions and follows in a thousand shapes 
More lovely than the real," 

can command the attention and admiration of the world. Such 
a sculptor was Jonn Knollekins. His busts from life gained 


him fame and fortune but his statues, which required more than 
acute perception and mere handicraft, were little valued. There 
have been three names in the history of sculpture, whose world- 
wide fame shows preeminently the power of the ideal. Of these 
Praxiteles is at the head of one school, Phidias and Michel 
Augelo at that of another. Praxiteles appeals to the heart. He 
represents the soft and tender emotions in the most graceful and 
lovable manner. His Hermes is perfect of its kind. But while 
our hearts respond to the naturalness of this ideal, our intellect 
and soul tell us there may be a loftier one. As the most impres- 
sive landscape does not consist in the green, flowery meadows and 
calm summer lake, but in these united with the sterner features 
of hoary mountains, wild ravines, and rugged heights, so the 
grander side of human nature does not lie in the affections alone, 
but iu the affections combined with the will, the intellect, the 
imagination, and it is in conceiving and expressing this union 
that Phidias and Michel Augelo tower above their fellow-artists. 
The Olympian Jupiter of Phidias gives us as perfect an idea as is 
possible for an inanimate thing of the Divine qualities of justice, 
mercy, and majesty. The Moses of Michel Augelo is almost a 
living type of the height to which human nature may yet attain. 
In a noble life, however, the power of the ideal is perhaps best 
exemplified. Robert Lee was defeated in war, the leader of a 
ruined cause, yet he is the idol of every Southern heart, the 
admiration of his foes. And why? Because men see in him a 
uoble devotion, a grand unselfishness, and a lofty and idealized 
patriotism. It is not the Walpoles aud Napoleons, but the 
Pitts and Gordons that sway the world and stir in it a mighty 
throb of enthusiasm. 

The ideal is the vital element of life, and sculpture the art 
best fitted to express it. Sculpture then, is greatest of the arts. 
That the others are not thus elevated may be seen at a glance. 
Music is addressed more finally to the senses; the object of archi- 
tecture is utility; painting seems to have forgotten her Raphael, 
and is debased by the fashion which turns her into a machine for 
transcribing material beauties and gives to every girl a painted 


fan and dress. But sculpture remains in its original purity. Xo 
one dare call himself a sculptor who does not feel that he is 
inspired. The three mighty ideas — unity, eternity, and immor- 
tality — are so closely interwoven in its very nature that thev pre- 
vent it from being dealt with lightly. The power which it has 
through its near affinity to the spirit of life to awaken the grand 
possibilities of man's nature, gives it a dignity and responsibility 
which none but a genius can assume. That sculpture has thus 
been preserved in its greatness, seems to indicate that it may be 
greater still. For some years the world has had no master sculptor. 
Our own age is realistic. Yet spiritual life has not stood still 
since the time of Michel Angelo, it has gone steadily onward ; 
recently it has been stirred and quickened by an example of pure 
and elevated heroism. It remains for some one to seize this 
life and embody it in a work which shall inspire this and future 
generations, a work which shall be nobler than any yet achieved 
because its ideal is grander, mightier, more glorious. 


Vainly during the last months of our school life have we 
endeavored to put aside all thought of this hour, by dwelling 
with glorious anticipations on the future. The cloud, at first a 
mere speck in the distance, has grown larger, until now it covers 
the sky and cuts off for the time our bright sunshine. 

To-day we assemble in this room endeared by so many asso- 
ciations, to say farewell. 

We wish that our words to you, dear Bishop, were not fare- 
well, that in our several homes we might still look forward to 
your visits. All of us are not residents of the Old North State; 
but one remains a member of your Hock. We cannot hope to 
continue as heretofore under your fatherly care, but each one 
bears away a grateful remembrance of that care and the earnest 
hope that your blessing may remain with her forever. 


To our Rector, we offer our loving thanks for his unwavering 
kindness, his wise counsel, and tender protection. We wish you, 
dear Sir, every good gift; above all, that you may prosper in the 
future as in the past; that St. Mary's may be, as ever, an honor 
to the State and a blessing to society; that it may send forth into 
the world many noble women who will worthily carry out that 
ideal of perfect womanhood here faithfully set before them. 

Other classes, as the years roll on, will take the place we hold 
to-day, but none will part from you with more love and reluc- 
tance than we. May God be with you ! 

In saying farewell to you, dear Lady-Principal and teachers, 
we thank you for your kindly endeavors to make smooth the 
thorny path of learning, for your ready sympathy in all our cares 
and pleasures. The past year has not been free from misfor- 
tunes, but they lose their gloomy character when we see how 
closely they have drawn heart to heart and bound each one of us 
to the dear Alma Mater. Ties thus formed are not easily broken, 
and though we speak good-bye, we still hope to live iu one 
another's love and memory. 

To you, school-mates, we yield up with many regrets the place 
we have held this year, and bid yon farewell with the loving 
wish that you may find as much true happiness in it as we have 

Class-mates, for happy years we have gone hand in hand shar- 
ing the same tasks, the same joys. To-day we leave our school- 
girl life, and as women go to take our places in the world. 
Hitherto loving hands have helped us onward, have pointed 
out the right ; henceforth we must think and act for ourselves. 
Wise counsel and example have aided us. to form a noble ideal, 
we must endeavor, stroke by stroke to express it, bearing in mind 
that each blow is for eternity. May the Great Teacher give us 
His help, that we may make of our lives master-pieces fit for His 
Heavenlv halls. 



These are the words by which Johnson characterized Shaks- 
pere's education, and which, be they true or even credible, are no 
light matter to those who wish to be Shaksperes. Moreover, 
thev bring comfort to those who desire a liberal education, but 
who cannot, even by the sweat of their brow, master Ca?sar, or 
keep the Greek alphabet straight. It is true that a grammar 
school in the days of Skakspere, meant a school for teaching 
chiefly Latin and Greek, but it is not known that he went to one 
of these. The argument is poor of those who contend that he 
was a classical scholar. Xo doubt, say they, showers fell or the 
sun shone upon his father's garden, though we have no record of 
the fact. Judging the poet's education from his works, it may 
well be thought that an unfair presumption has been formed, and 
that Johnson's expression has received too great credence, espe- 
cially as it was the way of the latter, rather to point an antithesis 
than to state a truth. On the other hand, there is reason to 
believe that Shakspere was ignorant of any language but his 
own. Accepting Johnson's evidence, let us take his words liter- 
ally — " Little Latin and less Greek," which does not deny some. 
The poem in which they are found was not prompted by affec- 
tion, or we might doubt the truth of its sentiment; nor by 
"crafty malice," or we might fear he indulged his love for sar- 

Taking it for proved that Shakspere did know but little Latin 
and less Greek, what pleasure it gives to find him wiser than 
" Rare Ben," who, though not " dry and sandy with working in the 
graves of deceased languages," buried his gaiety in criticisms. 
Literature does not present two writers so different, two minds 
whose education was so diverse. Johnson was master of two 
languages spoken by no living nation, though it seems no paper- 
war can destroy them. Shakspere was master of two books, 
known to all nations and which no human power can deface. 
Johnson tasted, swallowed, and digested Greek and Latin ideas. 

108 ST. 31 ART'S MUSE. 

His knowledge gave him the art of marshaling his thoughts into 
a broad phalanx of connected ranks. To understand Johnson 
Ave have only to proceed in a straight path, which he carefully 
provides with barriers to prevent any stumbling into ditches. 
To enjoy Shakspere, we must dart around sudden crooks and 
turns, keeping an eye for the ditches which he prepares to catch 
■ the unwary. 

The two men represent the two methods disputed in our uni- 
versities to-day, and we may trace many of the characteristics of 
each to his early training. Johnson's father was no advocate of 
freedom. He thought himself most competent to select the sys- 
tem for young Ben's training. Not so with Shakspere, Senior. 
He allowed little Will freedom unto choosing his studies. The 
poet's versatility was discovered by his being allowed to try 
many occupations. His various employments are obvious, from 
the fact that some say he was a butcher, others a wool-comber, 
others a school-teacher, while still another, not knowing, but 
wishing to say something without contradicting any one, uses 
his imagination and supposes Will's father to have spent his 
days in making gloves. This bright reconciler forgot the teacher, 
but I am sure Shakspere was one. Since Shakspere was a teacher, 
it is apparent teachers need "Little Latin and less Greek." 

It was amid the scenery of the Avon that Shakspere's soul 
was taught. All the music we admire in his lines was learned 
from babbling brooks and sighing leaves. It was from his shep- 
herd's life that he paints the magic glades where Bully Bottom 
and his friends rehearsed their "very tragical mirth." His youth 
was clothed with romantic sweetness. The fancies which peopled 
the fairy land of his early dreams, were not marred by trying to 
graduate at such a time, at such a college, with such a degree. He 
exemplified the precept — 

" Study yourselves, and most of all note well 
Wherein did nature mean you to excel," 

and strove to know nature that he might learn her will. 
Shakespere was no mere dreamer; he knew as well as Goethe, that 


a poet for true development needs polish. He knew, better still, 
that "all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy." I am 
inclined to think he himself was a Jack after Mother Goose's 
own heart. In every occupation and in every subject he found a 
Christmas pie provided for his thumb. But he preferred making 
his own pie to taking formulas and phrases as the "fruit of oth- 
ers' baking." The curriculum by which his final course of study 
was conducted differed from that laid down for other students. 
There were universities such as St. John's at Cambridge, 
where some poor youths like Johnson went, but Shakspere could 
not understand their complex catalogues, or like President 
McCosh, he preferred to study the whole cosmos. We may sup- 
pose he made a schedule for himself. He surely had a literary 
plan as well as had Johnson. That a man's design in study can- 
not be traced at sight, step by step, is no proof that he has none. 
While Shakspere's scheme always looked vague, he had a supreme 
centre which concentrated everything around it. That centre 
was nature. The difference between Johnson and Shakspere was 
this : Johnson knew he had special talents, and provided for 
them by special studies. Shakspere was modest enough to think 
he had no special talents, so pursued universal studies — a model 
for all who have no decided talents. 

Unfortunately for the world, there are too many Johnsons, 
too few Shaksperes. Certainly it is not that people prefer being 
Johnsons, nor is it the fault of all those who occupy professors' 
chairs. President White says if professors had been listened to 
hardly a word of Greek would be taught in our universities. 
The curses and praises bestowed on the pioneer reviver of Greek 
and Latin as a part of English scholarship do not fall on 

Further, it is not because people use Bacon's judgment, for he 
says, "Studies serve for delight," and that "To spend too much 
time in studies is sloth." The most successful scholars in Latin 
and Greek cannot deny that these branches recjuire an immense 
amount of time. Bacon says, too, "Some books are to be 
tasted." We have good reason to suppose he meant Latin gram- 


mar, for he knew a taste would give the disagreeable flavor of 
the whole Latin language. Then he says, "Some books are to 
be swallowed." After laborious thought, I am glad to con- 
clude that Greek grammar was referred to. He knew the Greek 
language too perfect to be separated for a taste, it must be taken 
as a whole to preserve its unity. We may judge of the young 
Lord Keeper's dislike for Greek from his sentiments towards 
Aristotle. It was not that he disproved of Logic; for in his 
recipes for defects of the mind, he gives logic as ''that which 
makes a man able to contend well." Later, Bacon says, "-Read- 
ing maketh a full man," and that "Some few books are to be 
chewed and digested." Certain that none would object to such 
an assimilation of Shakspere that his phrases might become 
the natural expression of their thoughts, I do not hesitate to 
affirm that Bacon was alluding to Shakspere. As it takes a lit- 
tle imagination to see what Bacon is driving at, his learned theo- 
ries have been passed over and, without knowing it, people 
have been trying to chew, swallow, and digest that in which the 
philosopher shows there is no use. 

Perhaps it is thought Shakspere's education was too delight- 
ful to produce much good. Let us see. Latin and Greek do 
not bring money, or show people how to make it. A good, rich 
pasture does make fine sheep, which bring the owner fine values 
accordingly. One versed in the classics does not make a good 
salesman; one versed in marketing does. Latin and Greek can- 
not show a teacher the proper training for all minds; a thorough 
knowledge of character can. Seeing the beauties in Latin and 
Greek structures does not prepare one to admire human nature; 
seeing the beauties in the soul does. Shakspere studied the lan- 
guage of plants, that he might converse with them; no study 
enables us to converse with the old Greeks and Romans. The 
pleasure of reading the original works is no balance to the labor 
and time spent in acquiring the languages. There is not one 
practical improvement made by studying Latin and Greek. 
Moreover, the practice of translating classical master-pieces and 
observing classical standards and epithets generally, has led to 


errors, mental and moral. If Johnson had not been so fluent 
in his translations, perhaps he would not have been guilty of 
stealing the love-letters of Philostratus to produce the little song 
called "Drink to Me only with Thine Eyes." 

What can be the reason why so many still cling to the clas- 
sics? It is very easy to trace the steps by which they have 
become of importance, but not so easy to see the reasons.* The 
old ideal of education made the classics the aristocrats in letters, 
and it is elegant to be well acquainted with the Greek and 
Roman masters. Fashion is the reason of their present place. 
Then a change in fashion is what is needed, that there may not 
be so many Mrs. Blimbers sighing that, if they could have 
known Cicero, they could die contented; that there may not be 
so many Miss Blimbers, "digging up stone-dead languages like 
a ghoul "; that there may be fewer borrowed ideas, more original 
thoughts; that there may be less swallowing whole, more mental 
digestion ; that modern writers may be appreciated without ridi- 
culing the ancients. Then our universities would become the 
appointed places for receiving knowledge of use and necessity. 
It would be considered what children are by nature designed 
for. Horace and Virgil would not be drummed into the head 
of a merchant or a farmer, as well as into that of a possible 
Ovid or Livy. No longer would pastry-cooks desire their sons 
to be perfect in Latin and Greek before apprenticing to soap- 
boilers, as was complained of some hundred years ago. Logic 
and chemistry would not be regarded as of slight comparative 
importance. Many would find their sentiments echoed in the 
words of Dr. -Hall, who told a class of graduates that Latin was 
very important as giving value to their sheep-skins. Truly, 
this is where a little Latin comes in best; for if it is to be 
insisted upon that diplomas shall be written in Latin, the pos- 
sessor needs some knowledge thereof to convince him that he 
does not "sleep nor dream," that what did seem "small and 
indistinguishable, like far-off mountains," has not "turned into 

112 , ST. MARY'S MUSE. 

Lastly, this is decidedly a Slmksperian age. The diversity of 
occupations, all alive, none dead as Greek and Latin, calls for 
a Shakspere to select the best. The least property must be 
turned to the greatest profit. No time is to be wasted, but men's 
minds must advance by sudden intuitions to keep pace with 
modern discoveries. America is particularly a Shaksperian 
country. Our graduates become seekers of occupation instead of 
landed gentry. During a Shaksperian age, in a Shaksperian 
country, Shaksperian rules must make Shaksperes. No doubt 
in a few years the American stage will be immortalized and a 
noble monument raised to the national glory. 


At a time when the Muses seemed to have lost their power of 
inspiration a little god appeared on earth, and with his arrival 
the songs of the Trombadours burst forth. This was Fiction, 
and he had run away from the mountain of the Muses where 
his sisters had long held him captive, fearing his power on earth. 
His coming seemed destined to destroy their reign. Men 
turned from Erato and Calliope, as though Homer, Virgil, 
Alcseus, and Pindar had never existed. 

The runaway had not come empty-handed, but bearing gifts. 

To a chosen few he has given genius; as to Thackeray, Haw- 
thorne, Charlotte Bronte, and George Eliot. Talent he bestows 
more widely. Of this Black has come in for a share. Hence 
the sunsets in "White Wings," the storm in "Yolande." These, 
however, are but beautiful pictures. McDonald's talent often 
seems to soar even into the atmosphere of genius. Few novel- 
ists have so prompted their readers to thought. But Mrs. Oli- 
phant has been given a yet more popular talent, that of story- 
telling. In this no living novelist excels her. 

ST. 31 A FY'S MUSE. 113 

Her characterization is not that of a master, her creations are 
not living beings. Maggie Tnlliver's griefs are our own, Madam's 
sorrows are not; they form part of a stranger's tale. Thus it is 
with every mere story-teller's characters. Yet those of this racon- 
teuse are well delineated, always consistent, often harmonious. 
Richard Ross' gypsy wife is a gypsy to the end. Her love for her 
boys brought her to her husband's home but no startling change 
takes place in her there, her identity is preserved throughout; 
until death she is the same wild creature that Richard had met 
by the road-side, and loved. 

Mrs. Oliphant deals somewhat with Scotch life, and in the 
"Wizard's Sou " the plot is laid mostly in Scotland. A marked 
difference exists between her Scotchmen and those of McDonald 
and Scott. This difference does not, however, extend to the 
women. Oona Forrester, Rose Bradwardine, and Maggie Elgin- 
brod might be sisters. In each are combined utter self-forget- 
ful ness, a boundless love for the beautiful, and a reverence for 
higher things which is peculiarly Scotch. In David Elginbrod, 
George McDonald has drawn the portrait of a man whose nobility 
of soul and simplicity of heart stamp him as a son of God. A 
vast abyss separates David Elginbrod from the wild, hot-tempered 
men like McPherson and Bradwardine, that Scott loves to 
depict. But these are different phases among the same people. 
Mrs. Oliphant's Scotchmen are Englishmen in the heart of 

Our author's most winning attribute is a sweet and pathetic 
tenderness. In writing of elderly people, few are so apt. Lord 
and Lady Eskside's love for their grandchild is expressed so 
exquisitely ihat "Valentine and His Brother" might have been 
written by a grandmamma. This book is concluded by a pic- 
ture of the old people as they leave their son and turn home- 
ward, "holding each other up with the kind mutual pressure of 
their old arms. Both of them were beyond the measure of 
man's years on earth! The bairns come, and the bairns go, but 
thank God you and me are still together, Catharine ! " said the old 
lord." She is equally happy in portraying children's character. 


" Val" is the romping, roguish little fellow we meet daily in 
our homes. He has the same distaste for petting and desire to 
be grownup, the same love for "showing off" his wonderful 
achievements. As for small Tom, with his dabby kisses, few 
babies are lovelier. She has written nothing more beautiful, or 
in which tenderness is more fully shown than the "Little Pil- 
grim," and especially that part where the "Little Pilgrim" is 
comforted by the child of Heaven. It* leads us to believe that 
the writer is a mother whose little ones, 

"Tender angel eyes 
Are watching ever earnestly, 
Through the loop-holes of the skies." 

Nothing Mrs. Oliphant has written contains a greater num- 
ber of beauties than this book. She writes not as the story-teller 
only, but as the poet and artist. Her imagination is displayed 
fully yet delicately, and she reveals a deep, reverent faith. In 
this, too, she hasMnade one of her greatest failures. In touching 
that which is unrevealed and forbidden, she loses herself. All 
Mrs. Oliphant's other works ou the unknown may be summed 
up in few words. They are ghost-stories, prettily told. 

There is one attempt at psychology and this novel, the " Wiz- 
ard's Son," has proved powerful. Unlike Hawthorne or Mc- 
Donald, Mrs. Oliphant leaves us in the dark as to the peculiar 
influence which exerts itself so powerfully upon her hero. Haw- 
thorne, by the witchery of his words, often entangles us in a 
web of mystery, from which we cannot extricate ourselves; but 
he gradually solves the enigma and the incomprehensible proves 
natural. McDonald's David Elginbrod contains much that 
appears allied to spiritualism, but he easily resolves it into a 
physical force. The mystery in the "Wizard's Son" remains 
such to the end, and it seems to be a veritable demon that so inces- 
santly intrudes himself upon W r alter Methven. 

At times this lady becomes quite satirical; but her satire is to 
adorn the tale, not to point a moral. It is not Thackeray's sting- 
ing satire which probes the human heart. It is akin to humor 

ST. MARY'S 3IUSE. 115 

and embodies no scorn. " Lady Jane" is one long laugh at cer- 
tain characteristics of the English nobility but there is nothing 
to rankle. 

The outside world has not been Mrs. Oliphant's inspiration as 
it lias often been Black's, but her sketches are pretty renderings 
of nature. As an artist, her taste is exquisite, and her sense of 
harmony allows no jarring combinations. Her word-painting 
could not be compared to Reynold's magnificent productions, 
for she has not drawn one living portrait; but, in her happiest 
landscape efforts, she might be likened to Boughton. The deli- 
cate lights and shades which fall over her canvas are equalled 
only by her vivacity and variety of subject. Her characters are 
heightened by the scenes in which they are placed and which 
always fit perfectly. Oona would not have been Oona any- 
where but on "Loch Houran." 

For so voluminous a writer, Mrs. Oliphaut indulges little in 
repetition. The inevitable family servant is always present, but 
he is not always the same and he generally adds to the humor 
of the story. The "Ladies Li ud ores" would be scarcely read- 
able but for Rolls. When he ceases to be the main interest our 
sympathy ends. 

We know nothing of Mrs. Oliphaut herself except through 
her novels. Even memoir-mongers spare their victims during 
life. I like to think her reflected in "Old Lady Mary," a lov- 
ing, gracious gentle-woman. 


Aristotle, Horace, and Longinus are the pioneers in criticism, 
exploring the land, overcoming obstacles strewn along the path 
of future adventurers, and paving the way to greater discover- 
ies. We may not call these sages the first critics, for man has 
ever been possessed of a desire to inquire into his neighbor's 


affairs and put in a word concerning that neighbor's deeds, but 
to them belongs the honor of founding the art, Criticism, and 
setting forth the character of a true critic. Deserting the ranks 
of those engaged in the mad pursuit of fame, they point the 
way to that fame, sharpen the wits of the fierce combatants for 
literary glory, and try 

"The poet's worth to show, 
And whence his true poetic riches flow." 

The modest Flaccus, in particular, lays down the law to the 
poets of posterity, impressing us with the dignity of his office 
and his capability of filling it. He lauds to the skies the epic 
poet of Greece, encourages imitation of the great master, and 
lends a helping-hand to the "modern poet by Homer taught." 
He commands a regard for the fitness of things, especially in 
tragedy, where a difference must be made between quiet, peace- 
ful scenes and the portrayal of mad Achilles, of "intrepid, 
fierce, and unforgiving rage." His airy flights of imagination 
are varied with profound philosophizing moods, under the 
influence of which he recommends a solid substratum of the 
"good sense of Socrates." Surely he meant not common 
sense, the lack of which is always getting us into such woful 
plights; for, as I remember, the Dreamer did not possess a vast 
amount. Ever ready with sympathy and advice, Horace spared 
not the faults which came within his ken. 

"As an honest critic, when dull lines run slow, 
Or harshly rude, will his resentment show" 

he probably crushed the hopes of many a youthful poet, and 
left to his successors the reputation of stern judges doing more 
harm than good. This stigma has not remained upon the head 
of the unfortunate censor, though he endured years of contempt. 
So slow was the change in popular feeling, that as late as Dean 
Swift's time, in England at least, the critic had more foes to fight 
against than friends to rely upon. The Dean aptly illustrates 


the situation by comparison with that of an ancient hero, Her- 
cules, for example, ridding the world of sundry pests and mis- 
fortunes and completing his works of mercy by putting an end 
to himself, that men might enjoy in peace and quiet the fruits of 
his labors. He says, "The true critic as soon as he has finished 
his task assigned, should deliver himself up to ratsbane, or 
hemp, or leap from some convenient altitude." According to 
another celebrated writer, critics are "A people between the learned 
and ignorant, and by that situation enjoy the tranquility of neither." 
Unable to produce anything good themselves, they " nibble at 
the superfluities of books," seeking consolation in picking to 
pieces other people's work. 

Thus we see these knights of the pen have had to weather some 
pretty hard storms. Often though they themselves have called 
forth the thunder and lightning. Those who truly conceived the 
dignity of their calling have forced from men even grateful 
recognition ; Addison and Steele, for instance. The Spectator 
went forth, not as critic of one particular thing but as an impar- 
tial judge; not as a carper but as an indulgent observer of the 
faults and foibles of society, yet dealing telling blows where they 
were needed. As to the Tatler, a more fitting motto could not 
have been chosen by its contributors than, 

" Whate'er men think or say or dream 
Our motley paper chooses for its theme." 

Surely they had stowed away in their editorial sanctum the 
wonderful Tarukappe of Xibelungen fame or some genius, power 
of dropping down at any moment, such a faculty of scraping- 
together every little bit of gossip and laying bare the deepest 
secrets of politics did they possess. Nor did the literary man 
escape the Spectator's eagle glance, especially the critic, usually 
written down a perfect ignoramus, dissecting everything he lays 
his hands on and keeping in readiness a battery of high-sound- 
ing words to fire forth upon the first author who comes within 
range. Thus, as critics, Addison and Steele were at war with 
their order; and they advanced their own views in defiance of 


those who held that "all that is good is derived from the 
ancients/' condemning a blind reliance on the old masters. 
That they were right is proved by the present status of Pope. 

Charles Lamb displayed, even in his narrow sphere, the 
true spirit of criticism. In that circle of poet friends of which 
he was centre, he was not the stern arbiter but the kind friend, 
ever cheering onward, though it were by pointing out faults. The 
old poets were dear, familiar companions, but far was it from 
him to insist upon his friends following the same beaten track. 
On the contrary, he encouraged deviation from fixed rides, confi- 
dent of the triumph of native genius. In him was a reverence, 
a feeling of awe, when in the presence of genius, that one of 
God's most precious gifts which enables the possessor to catch a 
glimpse of another world than ours yet raises him not above the 
rules essential to lesser minds. Even when a genius casts its 
light away as did that of Coleridge, the kind friend gathers up 
tenderly the broken rays and strives to mingle them in one pure 

As we study those who have won glorious laurels in criticism, 
we no more wish to find in all the same traits than in our auth- 
ors the same style. Indeed the critic's strength most often lies 
in his peculiar mode of attack; yet tactics must be somewhat 
regulated by principles. The critic must not set out deter- 
mined to find fault, but to condemn what demands condemna- 
tion. No one of our most successful critics has better shown 
this spirit than Lamb. He seems to have caught the reflection 
of Dick Steele's genial good humor; even when fortune appears 
to have deserted him, he laughs in her face and sends a jolly 
strain ringing through his charming letters, master-pieces of 
criticism. The powerful instruments of wit and satire, tem- 
pered by his loving nature, are wielded with different results 
from those produced by the stinging blows of Swift and Pope. 
Our critic, so armed and equipped, must enter the lists with a 
thorough knowledge of what he is about, be on the alert to 
seize every opportunity for a decisive blow, and keep a warm 
heart as well as a cool head, ready for the encounter; that it 


be not said of him, as of an otherwise great writer, "His bitter- 
ness of enmity ran away with his judgment," but rather that he 
fought as a true friend, giving without a grudge honor where 
honor was due. He should feel arising within his heart sym- 
pathy, the magic bond of union between the critic and the sub- 
ject of his criticism. This sympathy is a tender plant which 
springs up spontaneously and blossoms with wondrous beauty, 
but if not kept within its natural bounds by a wise and power- 
ful judgment, will burst forth into rank luxuriance. Nor is it 
only in its native land that it attains perfection. Drinking in 
the friendly rays of a foreign sun and taking into its roots new 
elements, it puts forth fresh and tender leaves, growing in beauty 
until the flower becomes fruit, perfect in form and color. 
Throughout the works of Carlyle this fellow-feeling is evident. 
Not content with having culled the choicest flowers of his own 
literature, he went abroad to garner into his store-house new 
treasures and to find among the poets of other lands new sub- 
jects for his unbounded sympathy. As the herald of the hith- 
erto unnoticed literature of Germany, he announced the vast 
fields of learning laid open for exploration. He found there a 
school of criticism such as no other country could boast and, 
enrolling himself as a disciple, applied its principles first to its 
own poets. He devotes himself in turn to Goethe, Schiller, 
Werner, and seems to lose himself in liichter's colossal mind. 
To many "Jean Paul, the unique," presents an odd combina- 
tion of seemingly antagonistic qualities, but under Carlyle's 
guidance, the chaos is resolved into perfect order and symmetry. 
Peculiarities, which in our eyes might detract from the poet's 
greatness, are laughed at, not as incongruous but as the comple- 
ment of the other side of his character. With an equally deli- 
cate perception of the elements of the sublime and the ludi- 
crous, Carlyle accepts these traits as part of the man, as half 
the double manifestation of a mighty genius. Such gems he 
draws from the depths of German thought, that in spite of our- 
selves we are inspired with his enthusiasm to love the poets 
he loves. Yet in his search for foreign genius, the censor of 


his age forgets riot his native bards. Returning to Scotland's 
two great poets, he lavishes upon them all the fond sympathy 
of his great heart; for, far from weakening during its stay in 
a foreign land, that sympathy has broadened and strengthened. 
Its possessor still shows powerful penetration, but sometimes 
neglects little faults in the contemplation of great genius. He 
finds beauties which others have not seen, but as he himself 
says, "Pity and love are prone to magnify." In his criticism 
of the peasant poet, the three friends, pity, love, and sympathy, 
have more influence over stern judgment than Carlyle often 
allows them to attain. 

Everywhere judgment counsels and warns impulsive sympa- 
thy, while she, held in check by his wisdom, coaxes him to relent 
from his merciless decisions. So the two go hand in hand, not 
only through the world of letters, but wandering far away into 
the fairy regions of painting, sculpture, and music, where, how- 
ever, their separate missions are not so distinctly marked and 
their joint work becomes less satisfactory; for criticism in the 
Fine Arts may not be subjected to rules such as those which lit- 
erary critics must obey. Sympathy may exercise even more 
freely her tender care, but Judgment is at loss without the 
time-honored code by which he is wont to regulate his decisions. 
He finds no final appeal. The goal has not yet been reached. 
Instead of condemning all systems contrary to his own, he must 
respect each method of striving after the ideal, for who knows 
but that it may be the path leading to the glorious end. The 
critic cannot walk too carefully in a world enveloped as in mist 
impenetrable even to his eye. There have been men, Ruskin 
for instance, who have proved not unequal to the task and who 
have fearlessly overthrown many a false idol in art. 

It may be charged as a fault .that the critical review's of our 
day are different from those of Addison and Steele, and even 
from those of Sidney Smith and Jeffrey. They are not more 
different than the literary, social, and political life of which they 
treat. People say human nature is always the same, but as are 
the influences brought to bear upon it so are its manifestations. 


Thus the literary current is being continually turned into new 
channels; here for the better, there for the worse. Our reviews 
are not so long and carefully written as the old ones, for we 
have not time to lavish upon our innumerable publications the 
studied elegance of our grandfathers. Probably we are not per- 
severing enough to plod along patiently and steadily; but the 
quick, ringing blows aimed at the right moment elicit not only 
sounds but the true fire, sparkling and pure. Our critics may 
have cast aside the care and elegance with which their fore- 
fathers sought to adorn their work; but their polished simplicity, 
the energy and power concentrated in their essays do honor to 
any literature. Unwilling to leave in peace authors whose rep- 
utation has been established for centuries, the modern critic brings 
them to the front and freely discusses their merits and faults; 
but it is to the writers of to-day that the chief attention is given. 
As soon as a new work appears it is seized by half a dozen mag- 
azines, struggling for the last dainty bit and finally getting into 
a heated controversy, in which the. writer's every fault must pass 
in review and abide their judgment. One praises the book to 
the skies, while another calls it a piece of trash not worth notice. 
This one, if it is a novel, goes into minute particulars concern- 
ing the wonderful plan, powerful delineation of character, and 
ingenious development of plot. That one deigns not to waste a 
dozen words upon a novel whose characters are "dolls stuffed 
with sawdust," the plan utterly foolish and stale, and the whole 
thing a mere "involution of nonsense." The poor, belabored 
author sees his romance, the structure upon which he has 
expended his entire stock of learning, imagination, and wit, 
which has become part of his very being, and which he sent 
forth into the great world hoping that it might accomplish a 
mission, held up to ridicule as worthless or worse. It is 
impossible, says the last review, to assign a raison d'etre for 
such trash. Behold the pride of his heart lying in the dust at 
his feet ! But let him not despair, for a ray of light darts from 
the dark sky, a rival paper looks upon his work in a different 
light, and he may yet see it raised from the dust and exalted to 


no mean place in the Temple of Fame. Having once gained an 
honorable footing, can our struggling friend fail to see to whom 
be owes much of his success? He wrote the book, but how 
would it ever have gained a hearing without its critic herald? 
Booth is not Shakespere, but he has done much toward reveal- 
ing Shakespere to us. As he portrays the characters conceived 
in the great poet's mind, feels and acts with them, so the critic 
interprets the depths of meaning which our less acute vision 
could never penetrate. Our literature would not have developed 
as it has without his watchful care, here coaxing forth tender 
shoots that scarce dare veuture into the merciless world, there 
checking unwise growths that would sap the strength, every- 
where drawing our attention to perfect blossoms. So will its 
progress continue or cease as the critic's mission is acknowledged 
or ignored. 


The Earth was to be married, and over this event all the Uni- 
verse was rejoicing. Though the Sun had been an admirer of 
the Earth from their youth up, never -until the preceding sum- 
mer had anything like love sprung up between them. The 
months of the wooing had been lovely. Nature had shown 
only the smiling side of her face, and had dressed the Earth in 
her most bewitching garb. There had been some sorrow and a few 
tears, for the course of true love never runs smooth ; but all was 
happiness now, even though Winter seemed trying to turn the 
Earth from her betrothed and each day made their conferences 
shorter until, at last, these were but about two-thirds as long as 
they had been in the balmy summer. Moreover, he built an 
icy barrier between the lovers, to make the Earth appear cold and 
unsympathizing, while he took from the smile of the Sun some 
of its brightness. But the Sun, in his great joy, was so kind 

ST. MARY'S 31 USE. 123 

that he melted even frigid Winter into repentant tears and 
gradually that frosty old gentleman began to lengthen the inter- 
views of the lovers. So happy hours wore on into days and 
weeks, until at last the Sun earnestly begged that the day might 
be named. He wished the Earth to be married on the anni- 
versary of the wooing, and to wear the same delicate robe of 
roses and other fair blossoms. But she objected to this; for, after 
the perversity of her sex, she longed for something new. She 
had had so many dresses of that description, and then they were 
too gay for a bride. Her dearest friend, the Moon, who w r as to 
be first bridesmaid, begged that the ceremony might be per- 
formed in the Winter, as she might be with the Earth longer at 
that season. They were often together and, clasped fondly in 
the white arms of the Moon, the Earth unfolded her plans for 
the future. It grieved her much not to grant the request of her 
friend, but she had not a becoming winter dress, all were too 
sombre for a bride. Spring was then suggested, for the fair 
green robe of that season would be both becoming and appro- 
priate. f But the Moon was much hurt at the choice of spring, 
the season when her hours with the Earth were few. "Let it 
be fall, then," said the Earth. The same objection held good 
here, besides autumn's dress of old gold and garnet would be 
too gaudy. 

At last, much perplexed, the Earth left the selection of the 
dress to Nature, telling her that the ceremony must be in the 
winter and a becoming dress must be had. Nature at first was 
distressed at the great responsibility laid upon her. She said that 
although she had spent her life in adorning her dear mistress, she 
did not feel equal to this occasion. But when she saw the great 
dilemma in which her mistress was placed, she promised to call 
all her forces to council. Together they would arrange a fit 

Relieved of this care, the Earth was all smiles again. But 
poor Nature was sad, for though all the maids had been called and 
they had racked their brains, still no happy thought presented 
itself. At last, in despair, she went to the Sun and begged that 


he would accompany her on a visit to the Ocean, to entreat for 
material to make the dress. She had expected the Ocean to be 
cross, and dash off on his never-ending journey without even a 
word; but instead, he fawned at their feet and said nothing 
could give him more pleasure than to serve the Sun. So the 
Sun bore to Nature's work-shop a soft, greyish substance, taken 
from the bosom of the Ocean. Nature was still dissatisfied; for 
the material was almost grey and she wished the dress to be 
white. The Maid from the North, however, said thnt she could 
easily weave the material into a filmy, white texture, and com- 
manded that all should be made ready for the celebration of the 
nuptials, as the robe must be worn as soon as woven. Rejoic- 
ing, Nature then told the Earth that on the morrow, in the 
gloaming, she would begin the toilet, on the following even- 
ing the wedding must take place, and that the Moon would be 
present. She then retired to watch the process of the weaving, 
for she had not much confidence in that blustering Maid from the 
North. Indeed she was so fearful, lest after all the precautions 
the plan should fail, that she even shed some tears. These that 
wonderful Maid quickly converted into sparkling diamonds and 
wove into the texture of the dress, adding much to its beauty. 

On the following evening, after the daily conference of the 
lovers had closed, the maids carefully brought the dress and put 
it upon the Earth, wondering at the beauty of the transforma- 
tion made by their own hands. The Earth, however, had fal- 
len asleep, worn out by the excitement of the last few days. So 
she knew nothing of what was going on. 

Next morning the Sun rose exultantly to meet his promised 
bride, but great was his disappointment when a veil was drawn 
over his face and he was told that he might not see the Earth 
until the wedding hour. It seemed to him that old Father Time 
had never travelled so slowly, that ages passed between morn and 
eve. At last, thinking that he had been deprived of his love, 
he was on the point of departing, when the veil was withdrawn, 
and he gazed upon his beautiful bride. The Moon had already 
arrived and was hovering lovingly over her friend. Nature had 


done her work well, for she had clothed the Earth in a bridal 
robe of spotless ermine, relieved by a few flashing diamonds. 
The Sun was dazzled by her beauty. He stretched out his shin- 
ing arms to hold his bride in a loving embrace. 

There between the Sun and Moon the Earth was wedded. 
From her western post the Goddess of Beauty witnessed the 
ceremony and felt that, in the presence of the Earth, even her 
fame waned, while Mars was so enamored of the Earth's loveli- 
ness that he longed to wrest her from the Sun by valiant deeds. 
Jupiter looked serenely down upon what he considered mere 
child's play, though he could not but admire the Sun's bride. 
On the very outposts of the Sun's dominions stood Saturn with 
his constant train of eight and from his well-filled hour-glass 
prophesied long life and happiness to the newly wedded pair. 


[Trauslated from Revue Litttraire.J 

"Ah! what a pretty hamlet!" cried the young Marchioness, 
stopping directly in front of a group of low thatched cottages, 
whose roofs, velvety with moss, were hung here and there with 
bunches of wild herbs. There were trees bending- over the 
houses and the foliage, upon which the rays of the sun played, 
was as brilliant as a bouquet of emeralds. 

" It is really very pretty," replied the Marquis, knocking off 
with a dainty flourish some grains of snuff which had lodged 
upon his cravat from his last pinch. 

"It looks very much like the one Her Majesty has just built 
in Trianon; do you remember it, my dear?" 

"Slightly — I have seen it only once, when I was presented — 
and I saw so many beautiful things then, that they have become 
a little confused in my memory. But let me think — there ought 

12(3 ST. MARY'S MUSE. 

to be some cows in a hamlet, and some milk and cream. Look 
around, gentlemen, and see if there is not a milk-maid who 
could serve us." 

"The true milk-maids are very little like those of Trianon, 
and, were you to see one, you would never think of asking her 
for milk," said a person who had not previously spoken. 

"Oh, Philosopher!" laughingly replied the Marchioness, "and 
what, then, do these true milk-maids resemble?" 

"They have sunburnt complexions, rough, and rarely clean 
hands, and harsh voices. Their hair is seldom combed, and they 
dress in rags, happy to have them. They eat black bread, roots, 
bad fruits, and I know not what else. Every winter some of 
them die from hunger." 

"Poor people!" murmured the Marchioness, who no longer 
laughed — the little hand, adorned with rings, had left the arm 
of her Cavalier to seek for her purse. 

"See, then, Mr. Philosopher, I beg you, you who know the 
inhabitants of the hamlet so well, to try to point out some of 
them," she replied. 

"I am at your service, Madam," replied the gentleman whom 
she had named Philosopher. "And, see, a god has taken it upon 
himself to comply with your wish, here is a native of the coun- 
try, coming on this side." 

He made several steps towards the woman indicated, who, 
seeing him approach, stopped at first, then stepped backward with 
a frightened air. 

O it 

"Come here, my good woman, and do not be afraid," he said 
to her, "Madam would like to speak to you." 

The woman approached timidly. She was, perhaps, fifty. 
Who could guess if it was age or misery that had wrinkled her 
face, and bent her slight and wretched body? She came in front 
of the Marchioness, who contemplated her with horror and pity, 
perhaps with confusion, too; for, after looking at the poor 
woman's rags, she blushed when her eyes rested upon her own 
arm, white and round, half hidden among folds of costly lace. 

"My good woman," she said, in he? gentlest voice, "we are 
warm and thirsty, could you not find us a little milk to drink?" 


"I have some, Madam; I have a cow!" replied the peasant. 
"If you would like — but, no, my home is too poor for you — I 
will bring you some milk outside." 

"No, no! I would like better to go into your house, I am 
tired, and I shall be very glad to sit down a little while," briskly 
replied the Marchioness. 

" Come this way, Madam ! " 

And the peasant led the way. The Marchioness was very 
sad, and the Cavalier, a young man much approved of in the 
circles of the town and the court, tried to divert her. 

"Truly, Madam," said he, "your sympathy is thrown away. 
These people are not so much to be pitied as you think. You, 
without doubt, would be very unhappy, were you to find your- 
self in their place; as for them, they are accustomed to their 
evils, they no longer even feel them." 

"You believe that?" interrupted the Philosopher in a quizzi- 
cal tone. 

The Cavalier scarcely deigned to look at him, the Philosopher 
was not a gentleman of court. 

"But when they see their children suffering from hunger," 
continued the Marchioness. 

"The affections," replied the Cavalier, "are, without doubt, 
much less keen with them than with the cultivated. It is 
known that sensibility develops in proportion to the refinement 
of people, shall I say? These people can lose parents and 
children without suffering as a refined person would under the 
same circumstances. They have not the time to lose in weeping. 
Then, too, self-interest is concerned. When a member of the 
family dies, there is one mouth less to fill." 

"You believe that?" replied the Philosopher, becoming more 
and more quizzical. 

The Cavalier was on the verge of anger, but the peasant stop- 
ped and opened a door. 

"It is here, Madam," she said. 

The Marchioness entered, and her companions followed. Oh! 
no, the cottage into which they entered did not resemble those of 


Trianon. What misery in the poor beds, filled with dry ferns, 
in the worm-eaten furniture, the uneven ground, in the tattered 
clothes which the children wore, in the hard and black bread 
upon which they feasted their eager eyes, while the grandmother 
cut them some pieces, alas! not large enough for their appetites. 

The Marchioness' heart was touched. She seated herself upon a 
bench which the hostess had carefully wiped off with her apron, 
and remained silent. The children crowded against one another, 
cowered in a corner and forgot, while looking at the guest, to bite 
their black bread. 

The peasant brought a jar of fresh milk and some earthen- 
ware cups decorated with flowers, which she had borrowed from 
a rich neighbor. She possessed only some wooden bowls. She 
helped the Marchioness, who found the milk excellent, as good, 
even better, than that of Trianon. 

A burst of silvery laughter resounded all at once from the 
farthest part of the room. The Marchioness turned. 

"It is the little one," said the peasant, "he always laughs like 
that when he wakes up. Wait my boy, wait my loved one ; I 
am coming to take my jewel." 

She lifted from the wooden cradle the chubby-faced baby, 
enveloped in ragged, swaddling clothes. What difference did it 
make if they were poor? Two rosy little feet could be seen 
through the rags and the plumpest limbs that had ever been the 
pride of a nurse. His mother kissed his little mouth, showering 
upon him the most endearing names. The Marchioness thought 
of her youngest son, the little Viscount, whom she had not seen 
for two days, because parties and duties of the world had 
absorbed all her time. Moreover he did not need her, for he 
had all to himself a nurse and a governess. The Marchioness 
met the gaze of the Philosopher and bent her head. "Who 
loves her child the more, this woman or myself?" she thought. 

Then the large brothers and sisters came out from the corner 
and crowded around the nurseling. One could not tell who 
caressed it most. He was so handsome and, seeing him so fat 
and fresh, you wondered why the others were so pale and slight. 



"What a fine-looking child you have," said the Marchioness 
to the peasant. 

"Oh! yes, Madam, "she said, flattered with the compliment. 
"The others are not so handsome, the poor little things! As 
for him, he has not yet had time to suffer. He needs only his 
mother's milk and there is always plenty of that. Is it not true, 
my fat boy?" 

The baby apparently understood, for he ceased to laugh and 
turned to his mother, struggling impatiently. The peasant has- 
tened to give him his supper. 

"Are all these children yours?" the Marchioness asked. 

"All except the little brown fellow, there in the corner. Still 
it seems as if he were mine. He was fatherless, and his poor 
mother could not be comforted at the thought of dying and 
leaving him all alone. So I promised to take him when she 
should be no more. This is the reason I have six children 
instead of five." 

."What a brave woman you are!" cried the Marchioness, with 
tears in her eves. "But you must have a "Teat deal of trouble 
in raising them all." The peasant sighed. 

"Trouble? Oh ! yes, they do not have so much as they want 
to eat every day. If only we could work as much as we wished — 
but to-day, for example, my husband had our barley to cut. Ah ! 
well, they have taken him for statute labor, and if a storm were 
to come up to-night the barley would be lost. Life is hard for 
the poor, Madam !" 

The Marchioness had risen. 

"Here," said she, placing some money in the peasant's hand, 
"there is something- with which to buy them bread." 

The woman looked. 

"Oh! my good lady!" cried she, "this is enough to carry me 
through the bad winter days. Ah! my poor Marie." She 
stopped and her eyes filled with tears. 

"Who is this Marie?" asked the Marchioness. 

"My oldest daughter, Madam. A child who had so much 
heart! She was fourteen, growing, and had need of nourish- 


ment. Ah, well! all winter she gave her bread to the little ones 
who cried with hunger. This made her feeble, little by little; 
and when spring came we carried her to the cemetery." 

The Marchioness was by this time really crying. She remem- 
bered a pompous funeral procession which went from her house 
one day, and a little bed draped with silk and lace, which 
remained empty in the nursery. Pressing in her delicate little* 
hands the large rough one of the other mother, she sairl : 

"I, also, have lost a child." 

"Ah ! Madam, how I pity you !" cried the peasant. " If 
one is rich or poor it is always the same grief." 

The remainder of the walk was in silence. The Cavalier 
tried vainly to offer his arm to the Marchioness. She seemed 
not to see it but took that of the Philosopher. I have heard 
that since this day the intimate friends of the Marchioness exer- 
cise their tongues greatly concerning her avarice. They say she 
wears the same dress three times in succession and does not 
renew her laces and jewels; but I have also heard that on her 
farm no one ever dies from hunger or misery. 


Although " A Tale of Two Cities" and "Oliver Twist" are 
by no means either the best or the worst of Dickens' many inter- 
esting works, although they take only a middle stand, yet they 
are marked as differing from the rest. You are apt to think of 
them together because where one fails so does the other, and 
where one is strong the other also is found to excel. 

The most marked similarity is that both are very exciting, 
and their subjects are such as would make the stories interesting 
and thrilling. They are alike also in that the scenes of both are 


laid principally among the poor and degraded — "Oliver Twist" 
in London, "A Tale of Two Cities" in Paris; for although the 
title of the latter suggests that the events take place equally in 
London, yet by far the greater part are in Paris. Both tales 
abound in the most horrible and wicked characters that the hor- 
ror and wickedness of the times and places could produce. 
What natures could be blacker than those of Fagin and Sykes? 
or what more repulsive than that of Mine. Defarge? In fact 
the few noble characters are swallowed up by the dark shadows 
cast by the demons of the tales. Every one knows what effective 
pictures are made by placing against a very black background 
figures of light and beauty. The loveliness of the latter is 
enhanced by the contrast. Just so most striking pictures might 
have been made from the material of these two books and the 
good might have been put forth at advantage. Instead, how- 
ever, it is the evil that makes a forcible impression and the 
light of the good is for a time choked by the shades of the bad. 
The author showed his judgment in not trying to illuminate 
such darkness, and made the final effect greater by the .entire 
dissipation of the shade and predominance of the light. For 
these novels are not without some good characters. Carton, 
though no saint, must be admired and loved. Lucie, too, would 
have been much loved had she been brought out; but, in her 
case, we shall have to be contented with saying what "might 
have been." Nancy, though her sins are great, is pitied by every 
one who can pity. And of course there were many others, minor 
characters, who were highly virtuous and respectable people. 

"Oliver Twist" and "A Tale of Two Cities" differ in one 
respect, which makes the former preferable. "A Tale of Two 
Cities" has its characters almost eutirely subservient to the plan. 
They seemed predestined to a set course, and to pursue it they 
were obliged. This was greatly caused by the French Revolu- 
tion, which, with its overwhelming tide, swept everything along. 
There was no room for private struggles or resistance. Details 
were sacrificed that the outline might be undefined and awe-in- 
spiring. In "Oliver Twist" this is reversed. Though the plan 


is equally fixed and forcible, yet it is the characters that carry out 
the plan, not the plan that carries out the characters. You, 
therefore, take a particular interest in the fate of each particular 
character, according to the part that character has played, and 
the feeling of like or dislike you have for him or her. In 
"Oliver" the fate of each individual holds you spell-bound, in 
"A Tale" the general turn of affairs occupies much of your 

One of the principal charms of "A Tale of Two Cities," is 
that its most exciting point's are of historic interest, rendered 
more thrilling by the graphic descriptions. The author could 
not have chosen scenes presenting more horror than those of the 
French Revolution. He knew well how to treat them, and rep- 
resented them so vividly that one is immediately transported to 
the field of action. In "Oliver Twist" the events are equally 
thrilling, but they are not historic. By this is not meant that 
the. topics treated are of no interest politically. One of the 
great objects of the book was reform in the work-houses and 
this was an important question in Parliament. But what is such 
a matter to the upturning and almost utter destruction df a 
nation? Social improvements and disputes can never be of the 
same interest to us as the wars and revolutions which sometimes 
shake the world's foundations as by an earthquake. 

It would be hard to define exactly the place which the novels 
under consideration occupy among their author's works. As has 
been said, they are neither his best nor yet his worst, but are 
usually classed as his most exciting books. In all of Dickens' 
writings we cannot but find some parts most thrilling. In 
" Do m bey and Son " there are Edith's flight, Mr. Carker's horrible 
death, Mr. Dombey's miserable thoughts of suicide. In " Nich- 
olas Nickleby" there are not only Ralph Nickleby's thoughts, 
but act of suicide. In "Bleak House" there are the events, as 
of a nightmare, of Lady Dedlock's disappearance and pursuit, 
and Mr. Tulkinghorn's death. In " Old Curiosity Shop", there is 
Quilp's well deserved fate. In "Our Mutual Friend" there are 
Bradley Headstone's deeds and death. In "Martin Chuzzle- 


wit" there is Jonas Chuzzlewit's wickedness. So with all his 
other books. But these are but small portions of large volumes, 
while "Oliver Twist" and "A Tale of Two Cities" are full of 
this kind of excitement. This cannot elevate them above the 
other books, and in some degree it lowers them. For in the 
excitement all feelings of both actors and readers are expelled, 
save those of passion. What partakes not of this in the stories 
appears cold, hard-hearted, and unnatural to spectators much 
wrought up by the horrors. There is little that is tender, sweet 
or simple. There is no room for characters that are first gentle. 
As the roar of Niagara would drowu and hush the voice of a 
tiny bmok murmuring over the pebbles, so the deep passions of 
passionate natures would drown the quiet emotions roused by any 
such characters. Doady's Little Blossom would have been 
unsuited to the fierceuess of these tales; out of place, almost awk- 
ward in either book. Perhaps this is why Oliver himself, virtuous 
little fellow though he was, appears so namby-pamby and priggish. 
Had his goodness been of a mighty kind it would have made 
itself heard far above the rush of the cataract. Lizzie Hexam 
might perhaps have come out truly and nobly under even such 
trying circumstances; yet we cannot but be thankful that, hard 
as was her lot, she was not in Nancy's place. 

As there is no room for quiet characters, so there is no room 
for quiet grief. We could never weep for anything in either 
book, except perhaps in anger and resentment at the wrongs 
done, although we scarcely sympathize with those who suffer the 
wrong. Such tears as rise at the death of Dora, of Grand- 
father's Guide, of Paul, of the poor little "Mover-on," would 
indeed seem strange if shed for any one in "A Tale of Two 
Cities" or "Oliver Twist." The pathos which characterizes 
Dickens' works seems almost entirely wanting in these two. 
This may be said also of his humor. Whereas in most of his 
novels we find them closely combined, here they are both lack- 
ing. The grief caused by the books, real though it may be, is 
that of chilling fear and horror, that which makes our blood 
curdle, as at the death of Nancy. And as we can feel no such 


grief as we feel in other stories, so we can feel no such joy. In 
"Dombey and Son," in "David Copperfield," and others a quiet 
sensation of pleasure comes over us when all turns out well. 
We are glad that Florence obtains what she so well deserves, 
glad in Agnes and David's joy, glad when little Nell at last 
finds rest, when Esther is happy, when Pip is rewarded for his 
constant love to Estella, delighted that the Marchioness escapes 
her cruel bondage, and that Mark Tapley settles down to be 
jolly with his jolly little wife. We sympathize with them all 
in their sorrows and equally in their joys. But in "A Tale of 
Two Cities" and "Oliver Twist" we feel a sensation of relief 
when one we admire is delivered from danger, or when for a 
time there is a cessation in the storm. There are few of Dick- 
ens' characters for whom we feel less attachment. They seem 
too much, vivid though the descriptions are, like book-charac- 
ters, with whom we can have nothing in common. JS T ot that 
they are unnatural. But there are so few people to whom such 
events happen that we can hardly realize them or feel in them 
as for our friends. Every-day events, such as Dickens' other 
works describe, touch nearer home. "A Tale of Two Cities" 
and "Oliver Twist" are a strain on the mind and it is almost 
with joy that we lay them down, thankful that such experiences 
never have and probably never will come near us or ours. 


Two little hands were clasped tight together, one little foot 
stamped impatiently on the green turf beneath it, two big, round 
tears rolled down two rosy cheeks, and two great, dark eyes were 
so bedimmed that they did not spy a meek little Eye-bright 
peeping up between the grasses. A tiny voice saying, "Oh! 
Oh! Oh!" reached the child's ears. The rose-bud lips for- 


got to pucker, the brown eyes opened wider, the little girl 
dropped down on her knees beside the blossom, and the tears fell, 
one into the very heart of the flower, the other into the earth 
beside it. "Mistress Brown-eyes," said the flower, "Why so 
sad?" It was wonderful, but Mistress Brown-eyes did not stop 
to wonder. 

"And did I almost stamp on you, little Eye-bright? I am so 
sorry, but I was so mad and raisable." 

The child lay down with her cheek on the soft grass, the lips 
began to pucker again, and soon sobs came which shook the tiny 
frame and made the head, in spite of the crown of golden ring- 
lets, throb with pain. 

"Poor little mortal," said the Eye-bright, "You miserable! 
Pretty baby, tell the little flower why." 

The flower and the grasses kissed away the tears almost before 
they fell and one of their play-mates, a gentle breeze, pushed 
back the clinging hair from the hot temples. Very soon the 
little one, wearied from her tears, said: 

"Dear flower, ought nurse to have said I was a silly child and 
had no business asking such foolish questions as, 'What becomes 
of people's tears?' She said it was the same thing as made Lot's 
wife turn into salt, and killed the cat and Blue-Beard's wives, 
insashatiable curiosity. But you don't think so, pretty, pretty 
flower, and if you know what becomes of people's tears please 
tell me." 

"Poor, abused little maid, it was a shame for nurse to speak 
to you that way. However, I do not wonder your question was 
too much for her. It is a hard one." 

"But you can, you will tell me!" and the brown eyes fairly 
danced with anticipation. "For I would keep them in the 
place they go to forever, and not let them come back and make 
my mamma and everybody sorry any more." 

"Brown-eyes," said the flower, "'tis naughty tears only, those 
that come from temper, that you should wish to keep away." 

Then all was still, the grasses did not sway to and fro, the 
breeze ceased to blow, and the child listened as the flower said : 

136 8T. IfARY'S MUSE. 

"Yes, I can tell you, for flowers know of tears. They see the 
first April showers that come in the children's spring life, and 
sooth with sweet sympathy the storms of after years. No win- 
ter is so cold but that we wait under the snow to bloom again at 
Easter-tide; no life so hard that we are not strewn along its 
path. Little one, tears do not grieve, they are a balm for grief." 
A puzzled look came into the baby face, chasing the dimples 
quite away. The Eye-bright said: "You do not understand, 
but I will show you. Listen! Listen!" 

There came a low sound of music through the grasses, so 
plaintive and soothing that the heavy lashes fell on the flushed 
cheek. Then the perfume of flowers filled the air, and either 
on the perfume or the music the child was borne first up, then 
away, away. 

When she opened her eyes she was standing in a garden shaped 
in the form of a heart. It was so beautiful that it almost took 
her breath away, and in the centre, from a pool as clear as crys- 
tal, rose a fountain of limpid water. The silvery drops fell to 
the earth again with a cheerful, pleasant sound and the sunshine 
glittered through the fountain, reflecting in myriads of tiny drops 
the rainbow colors. Flowers bloomed around the fountain, 
heart's ease and forget-me-nots, lilies, violets, and evergreen. 
They were all beautiful, but where the spray fell they grew yet 
more beautiful and fresh. 

"Youth is weeping," said a voice, "and from his tears this 
fountain springs. The flowers are the heart's virtues, the sun- 
shine happy thoughts, whose presence has called into being the 
rainbow of hope that bends over the pool." Then she saw that 
weeds had sprung up in the garden, but when tears fell on them, 
they were seen no more. An ugly creature appeared. He 
crowded out the flowers and by his every action the child knew 
that it was Self. Tears of sympathy drove him away. Then the 
flowers grew more beautiful, the air was full of their perfume, 
the sound of the fountain was like the happiest laughter, every- 
thing seemed about to break into one glad song of joy: but even 
that would not suffice to express the rapture breathing in every 


flower, sunbeam, and water-drop; and tears of joy fell on the 
happy garden-plot, while in the pool pictures were reflected 
never to be erased. This did not. last long. 

Then the water of the fountain rose and fell with a silent 
motion, the flowers bloomed and the sun shone; the blossoms 
were richer but the sunshine was not so brilliant. At length 
the child noticed a great change in the garden. The plants had 
grown into sturdy young trees, and on many there were not only 
flowers but fruit. And there was one strong tree, "Experience," 
not seen before. Sometimes dark clouds would almost or entirely 
obscure the genial sun and the fountain would be like a mighty 
torrent in its descent, while so rapid was the fall that even those 
rays which reached it would be almost lost. Sometimes the 
flowers would hardly bloom at all, the ground was hard for the 
plants to press through, and all things seemed to flag. The 
fountain fell with a tired motion as tears drop for very weari- 
ness; and the voice said: "Men and women are weeping now." 
The tree, Experience, spread its branches over the garden. Tne 
dancing light that had shone while Youth's tears fell was gone. 
Only the strong, true rays could penetrate the thick foliage. 
The garden rested peaceful in the pleasant light and the flowers 
sent their fragrance far outside the walls. 

The twilight came on softening the sunshine and the coloring 
of the flowers, until you could scarcely discern the different 
shapes but only see that all was beautiful. Tears of regret fell 
in a filmy, shadowy mist; for there had been times when the 
flowers might have bloomed better, when some, closed bud might 
have opened, or the sunshine gone outside the little garden, 
bearing fresh fragrance into places where it was dark and the 
flowers found it hard to bloom. The bow shone out through the 
mist all the more beautiful for the shadows gathering round. 
Then the day seemed to return and impart in one last look its 
fairest beauty to the scene. The mist was passed, the long rays 
slanting through the trees, kissed the flowers, and it was almost 
night. The fountain still played with a softly echoing mur- 
mur. At last the murmur ceased and both fountain and bow 


were gone. The fulfilment of the hope had come. "And God 
shall wipe away all tears from their eyes," said the voice. 

Then there came again the perfume and. the music, the vision 
was ended. The Eye-bright was looking up into the child's 
face and smiling at her. The brown eyes smiled back, and in 
the west the sun was sinking. 

"Good-night little flower," said the child. 


The waves of the Atlantic wash the shores of many beautiful 
places, and among the most beautiful is Beaufort, on the south- 
eastern coast of North Carolina. The town is small but one of 
the oldest in the State. Built in a curve projecting far out into 
the narrow river which lies between it and the ocean, it seems to 
have sprung from the sea, with its houses, flower-gardens, and 
spreading shade trees, and with its people too. All seem to 
belong to the ocean. One of the loveliest scenes to be imagined 
is a clear sunset from this little town. The sun sinks right 
into the river, and long after it has disappeared the sky is 
tinged with the most brilliant colors, each one reflected sepa- 
rately by the water. The twilight is indeed beautiful and it 
lasts for a long while. It was during one of these twilights 
that we first saw Beaufort, and we thought we had never 
seen anything so fair. It seemed as if we had passed into 
some enchanted city of olden times. The breaking of the 
waves against the shore was the only sound, and it was a 
subdued murmur, not an angry roar. The streets were shaded 
by rows of elm-trees, bent far over the houses by the spring and 
autumn winds. Beneath the old oaks of the church-yard the 
grave-stones gleamed ghostly in the twilight. Here the river, 
winding round the town, made dents in its shore, and there the 
land jutted far into the river. Beyond the shoal, between the 


ocean and the town, stood old Fort Macon. Its turf no longer 
worn down by the tramp of soldiers, held the softest evening 
shadows while one last ray of sunlight gilded the crumbling 
stones. Across the bay the lights of Morehead peeped out into 
the gathering darkness. 

It must have been a lover of the beautiful as well as of 
science that chose Beaufort for the home of the Johns Hopkins 
Laboratory, an institution to promote knowledge in its most 
delicate aud intricate forms. As the name shows, the" Labora- 
tory is a branch of the famous 'Baltimore University. It was 
established by Dr. W. K. Brooks in 1880, and since that time 
it has been in operation during the summer and autumn months. 

Dr. Brooks took a large frame building, about ten feet from 
the river, and fitted it up with all things necessary to the study 
of marine animals. It is some distance from the business por- 
tion of the town, on a slight promontory. Three rooms on the 
first floor make the Laboratory proper. Long, narrow tables are 
placed along the wall and covered with glass vessels, ranging in 
size from several gallons to an ordinary watch crystal. Over 
the tables are shelves for the different chemicals used in the pre- 
servation of marine animals. A library is furnished by the Uni- 
versity. The books are not, by any means, those generally read 
during a summer at the sea-side, but works on zoology and espe- 
cially on marine animals; dry and uninteresting to the general 
reader, but precious to the student. Professor Brooks began 
with six or perhaps eight pupils. Each one took some animal 
as his special study, and in this way a great deal was accom- 
plished in a short time. The workers are, as a rule, young men 
who have completed the usual college course, but wish to make 
a specialty of zoology. A steamer and a light row-boat consti- 
tute the fleet. The latter is to search for the smaller animals. 
On a bright summer morning, before the sun is far in the sky, two 
or three of the students start out in the steamer. A dredge net 
is used. It scrapes along the bottom of the sea and takes in 
everything with which it comes in contact; fish, rocks covered 
with animal life, crabs, and lovely mosses. The net is made of 

140 ST. MARY'S 31USE. 

coarse cord, and is fastened to the steamer by a stout rope. 
When filled it is brought to the shore and its contents are sorted. 
At the same time that the steamer starts out on its expedition, 
one or two of the students take to the row-boat. Fishing from 
the row-boat is altogether a different matter from fishing from 
the steamer; while in the one you may sit still and the net will 
go on catching just the same, in the other you have to be con- 
stantly on the alert. The row-boat is most used. Its net 
takes only the most minute animals, and these "sea-babies" are 
the special delight of the student. A scoop net is used in the 
boat-fishing. It is made of fine silk gauze, with only enough 
space between the meshes to allow the water to pass. It has a 
handle eight inches long. As the boat moves slowly on the net 
scoops under the water. When it is brought up, millions of tiny 
animals are captive. On the students' return to the Laboratory 
whatever has been caught is looked over, and all that is thought 
worth keeping is placed in water from the river to await further 
classification. Then all the animals of the larger sort are put 
into the glass tubs. These are filled with water from the sea by 
rubber pipes. Air is furnished by glass tubes placed under the 
water. The animals that have been caught in the gauze are too 
minute to be put in the glass tubs with the large ones, so these 
nets are carefully washed in a small quantity of water, which is 
then put under a microscope magnifying five hundred times. 
To the eye the water seems perfectly clear, but the glass discovers 
all kinds of strange-looking animals. There are great spiders, 
very much like the ones we find on old trees or buildings, funny 
fish having large heads and bodies small in proportion, and many 
others. Among the most beautiful specimens are the mosses, 
and sea-grasses. The moss is found to be filled with animals 
differing in form from any with which we are acquainted. The 
most beautiful of the sea-grasses is a kind that grows up out of 
the water and looks like a minute reed. This grass is com- 
pletely covered with small white animals. When all the heads 
are thrust out the weed has the appearance of a lovely rod of 
coral, but as soon as it is touched even lightly every head is 


drawn in and there is left only what appears to be an ugly yel- 
low reed. Among the most interesting specimens of crabs is the 
one called the King. It is that longest known to man and is 
had in all ages. Another interesting crab is known as the Her- 
mit. It has a very soft shell on one side. So, to protect itself 
from the larger animals, it searches until it finds au empty conch, 
of which it quietly takes possession. Over the opening is a per- 
fect little door, which the new tenant draws down on entering, 
so there is no chance for any invader to dislodge him. But the 
poor Hermit has an enemy in the Auger, which makes a door 
for itself. It can bore through the hardest shell, and once 
inside it destroys the life of the inmate. As the Hermit grows 
the shell becomes too small. Then the little creature is forced 
to come out and seek a larger home, leaving the old one to some 
dear friend or favorite cousin. Professor Conn, the Assistant of 
Professor Brooks, has written a treatise on the Crabs of Beau- 
fort, which work is now in press. He has talent as an artist, and 
his room is filled with crabs in their various stages, and also with 
drawings of them in every position. 

The oyster is an interesting study. The female during one 
season sends out from five to six millions of spawn. They 
have no shell, but float in the water until strong enough to fas- 
ten themselves to some stationary object. Then the shell 
begins to form, but it is not until after a growth of three years 
that the animal attains perfection. As many as fifty attach 
themselves to some rock and make what is called a bunch, but 
not nearly all live. Many are killed by larger animals and oth- 
ers are crowded out by their growing companions. Oysters are 
now cultivated in beds. Each one is taken separately from the 
bunch and planted in the bed where it is to grow. These are 
superior both in size and flavor, but do not attain their full 
growth for seven vears. One reason is thought to be the want 
of lime. In a natural bed the living animal thrives on the 
lime afforded by some dead companion, while in a cultivated 
bed only the living are allowed to remain. The beds of Charles- 
ton and the Chesapeake are noted for the fine flavor and size of 


the oysters produced, and those of the latter for the large quan- 
tities as well. These beds are of importance not only to the 
South, but also to the North since the Northern beds are 
said to have fallen off greatly in productiveness. Professor 
Brooks is a man of much note in the scientific world, and 
he has written a book on "The Oyster; its Life, Origin, 
and Habits." In the "Report of the Maryland Oyster Com- 
mission," he says it has been noticed that the spawn will 
not attach itself to anything lacking a clean surface. This fact 
has been utilized, and shells are now placed in swift currents 
where there is no danger of their becoming slimy, as points of 
support for the spawn. Artificial methods for catching the spat 
are not so much used in America as in Europe. There clean 
bunches of faggots are anchored in the track of the floating 
spawn. Earthen tiles, made for the purpose, are also used 
largely with great success. A method somewhat on this order 
is employed on the Poquonock river; white-birch bushes are 
stuck down, in the spawning season, in water about fourteen 
feet deep, to which the young adhere in great numbers. By 
this method as many as a thousand bushels of superior oysters 
have been obtained from a single acre. Besides its enemies in 
the way of larger animals and cold winds, our little bivalve 
has another formidable foe, viz. : mud. When ready to settle 
down for life, the animal naturally seeks a muddy bottom, as 
food there is abundant, but its shell is still so thin that a coat of 
mud only as thick as ordinary writing-paper would be certain 
death. Nature has come to the rescue; as the flood-tide rushes 
over the bed it washes away all mud and leaves the poor, help- 
less creature in safety. So the bed keeps itself clean. In his 
work the Professor gives several cuts of small shells or pieces 
of glass completely covered with young oysters, and he speaks 
of one shell as holding one hundred and fifty. "The more the 
merrier" seems to be the rule in these communities, but it is not 
to be wondered that many are killed by too much elbowing. 
And such weird things are made into habitations. An old 
Indian pipe was found not long since, to the bowl of which six 


of our friends had attached themselves. Indian relics have been 
dug from the sides of mountains and found buried far beneath 
the earth, but we think this one coming from its watery rest- 
ing-place most unique. Clusters of oysters are often found 
bearing beautiful sponges. They are exceedingly lovely in the 
water, as the sponges are of various colors. Often dark, deep 
shades mingle with the lighter ones, so as to form a fine con- 
trast. At times the shell is covered, every niche and crevice, 
with tiny barnacles. We thought such a cluster as we saw at 
the Laboratory must have inspired the famous account of the 
"Circumlocution Office." Indeed we named the shell after that 
honorable institution, and quickly singled out the members, 
the specially large and cozy-looking "Senior" or Tite Barnacle, 
and poor, uncomfortable little "Junior." 

The work of the Professor is not only a contribution to the 
Natural Science of the day. He shows that the warm waters 
of North Carolina and Maryland are peculiarly adapted to the 
raising of oysters. By acting upon his suggestions, the supply 
will be greatly increased and our State revenue likewise. Results 
more purely scientific are various. Many specimens, with full 
descriptions, are sent to the different universities throughout the 
United States, and pamphlets are constantly furnished. Our 
Laboratory, though still in its infancy, promises to be one of the 
most useful in the country, and may well be compared with the 
Rhode Island Agassiz Laboratory. The work done by both is 
the same, and while that of the latter is carried on on a larger 
scale, that of Beaufort is as thorough as far as it goes. We hope 
that in time the Johns Hopkins Laboratory may be enlarged. 



Horatio first saw the light of day at sunrise. He was born 
at Bangor, Me., 68° 47' west longitude, at the time when the cor- 
responding hour in the city of Mexico was 2 hours, 2 minutes, 
12 seconds before sunrise. It was on this same day that the 
memorable rise occurred in Erie Railroad stocks, value going up 
three and a half per cent. The delighted father (stockholder to 
a considerable extent in the company) presented the baby with 
the most perfect of christening robes, which consisted of seven 
yards of all-over embroidery, at $4,995 per yard, five mills 
being deducted from its original price by the obliging merchant. 
Under the care of his staid nurse, Adelaide, the baby learned 
early to walk, his first perambulatory exercise, consisting of 
^ 2605 i Qcnes - His first effort in using the Queen's English was 
the pronunciation of this same nurse's name, whom he unceas- 
ingly called "Add! Add!" This functionary seems to have 
possessed considerable influence over him, and he did not forget 
her teachings in later years. During the sad and dreary days 
of teething, Horatio's mother was wont to administer a mixture 
recommended by old Dr. Bangs. This mixture contained one 
and one-half grains of opium, which had been bought by the 
apothecary at forty cents an ounce, avordupois, and sold by 
troy-weight at fifty cents an ounce, thus making a gain of 
$17.83J on every twenty pounds. When about 31,536,000 sec- 
onds had passed by, that is to say, one year, Horry met with 
quite an adventure, he being in a carriage when the horses ran 
away. His affrighted father immediately afterward disposed of 
the animals, selling one at a loss of 25 per cent., and on the 
other making a gain per cent, to the same amount, though both 
horses brought in $150. The years flitted tranquilly onward 
upon their peaceful way until it was decided by the pater familias 
and the gentle mater to send their young hopeful to school. The 
greatest cross in our hero's life, so far, had been the fact that his 
beautiful new kite-string had broken, and he had lost one-half 


of it. Even after he had added thirty feet of whipcord it was 
only -3- of its original length. But now, alas, the spelling- 
book direfully confronts him. No more can he lie happily on 
the grass all day, listening to the jay-bird's madding melody, 
his feet at an altitude of three feet two inches in the air; but he 
must toil through the orthography of cat, rat, mat, bat, hat, etc. 
What relief then to turn from his blue-backed Webster to the 
exciting tales of his arithmetic, such as, "Jane had one marble, 
and John gave her two more, how many marbles has Jane?" 

Horatio, unfortunately, was not very popular with his school- 
mates, but he had three chosen friends, who remained constant 
to him until death. These gentlemen were A, B, and C. To 
these he confided his most cherished secrets, his plans, aims, and 
propositions. To these he explained a road, by following which 
they might shorten their path to school by 9.37 rods. But, as I 
remarked before, most of his play-mates vowed him "a detesta- 
ble prig"; and one, a chubby-faced, tough little fellow, openly 
ridiculed our most worthy hero. This youngster was a brave, 
though diminutive Achilles, of whom Horatio stood in decided 
awe, although younger than himself by 5 months, 3 weeks and 
6 days. Finally, the wicked boy actually challenged Horatio to 
fight. Our young gentleman received this proposition with the 
scorn it deserved, elevating his Roman nose and remarking that 
"dogs delight to bark and bite," but as for him he preferred 
"intellectual pleasures." This remark still more enraged the 
pugnacious school-mate, and Horatio was treated to such a beat- 
ing that it was some mouths before he could forget it. 

The school-yard was a rectangular piece of land, measuring 
one thousand links by one hundred. A splendid place for base- 
ball and stone- wall, most of the boys would have told you. 
Horatio could have informed you it contained one acre. Just 
back of the school-yard was a meadow in the form of a rhom- 
boid, twenty chains long, and the shortest distance between its 
longest sides was twelve chains. This was the picnic ground of 
the entire neighborhood. At one of these picnics a heavy 
storm came up, and the party was forced to take refuge in a 


barn. The boys began immediately to perform wonderful gym- 
nastic exercises, which threatened to break every bone in their 
bodies, and climbed like monkeys over the broad rafters. Hora- 
tio, meanwhile, stood by calmly taking in the measurement of 
the barn, reckoning the gable ends as being 28 feet wide, the 
perpendicular height of the ridge above the eaves seven feet, and 
thus proving that it would take 196^ f eet of plank to board 
up both gables. The other lads were merrily tumbling up and 
down the new-mown hay, shouting and laughing, though occa- 
sionally receiving a hard bump. Which was the wiser knowl- 
edge? All will answer, Horatio's. Who were the happier? 
I'll wager on the ignoramuses. 

One of the greatest friends of Horatio's childhood was his 
cousin's aunt-in-law's husband, a green-grocer. This man, I 
regret sincerely to say, was not overburdened with honesty, he 
having a fasle balance by which one pound weighed but 12 
ounces, thus making the real value of a barrel of sugar sold for 
$28 but $21. After a long and prosperous career, this grocer 
decided to sell out. His store was bought by a certain John 
Wilson. Mr. Wilson sent on to his agent for $3,600. The 
agent was instructed to remit it by a draft payable 60 days after 
sight, exchange being at three-fourths per cent, premium. The 
agent by mistake sent a sight draft, which was received at the 
bank and paid after the expiration of the three days of grace. 
Though Mr. Wilson immediately put the money at legal interest, 
he lost $1.90 by the mistake of his agent. Horatio's youthful 
sympathies went heavily for poor Mr. Wilson in this severe loss, 
and in fact, he thought so much of it that he decided to go into 
a business in which no blundering agents could bother. Accord- 
ingly he invested his small savings in poultry, buying eighteen. 
For these he paid two cents for the first, five for the second and 
eight for the third, in arithmetical progression. He built them 
a hennery four by six feet. But soon tiring of this, he turned 
his fickle fancy to navigation. "Sea Gull," his father's fancy 
little craft, was frequently used for pleasure sails up and down 
the Penobscot. Despite its pretty name, its plush cushions, 


snowy sails, and white shining deck, the "Sea Gull" suffered 
a severe humiliation. There was a horrible, dirty-looking sail- 
boat in Bangor, owned by old Peter Thompson, "Uncle Pete," 
as he was called for miles around. Its sails had borne the brunt 
of many a gale, a crop of corn might have been planted on its 
deck, and it presented a marked contrast to the pretty "Gull." 
Yet the redoubtable owner of this still more redoubtable craft 
had the audacity to challenge the pretty vessel to a race. Hora- 
tio was on deck, his face scrubbed and shining, having been 
scrubbed energetically with the famous new scoap, only ^g- of 
which is alkali. But alas for him and his expectations! alas 
for the "Sea Gull's" glory ! "flue feathers do not make fine birds." 
A cheering; crowd stood on the wharf as the boats started off. 
Pretty, gayly-dressed girls and young ladies cheered and waved 
their handkerchiefs for the dainty "Gull"; and the wharf-rats, 
whom old Uncle Pete had treated to many a free sail, screamed 
out immortality to the "Mary Jane." But when the stopping- 
point was reached, the umpire was forced to declare the "Mary 
Jane" had sailed five leagues, or 17.29 geographic miles, and the 
"Sea Gull" was a league behind. 

The next excitement in Bangor was the election. As this 
time drew near, political feeling ran high. At the election for 
Mayor, Horatio's father received 200 votes more than Mr. 
Brown, who had 6,000. For Mr. Smith there were 150 votes 
less than for Mr. Brown. Thus Mr. Robinson became Mayor. 
During his term of office a violent contention arose as to the 
poll question. There was a tax of §103,294.60 to be raised 
with an entire valuation of property at 338,260,000, and only 
25,482 taxable inhabitants. It was contended by many that the 
sum in question could only be raised by a poll-tax. Whatever 
the result would have been, was never known, for the poor 
Mayor died suddenly, it was said from overwork and excite- 
ment. His affairs were in excellent condition, however. He 
left -|- of his estate to his eldest son, to Horry f of the remainder, 
and to his daughter the remainder, who received $1,723§ less 
than Horatio. The bereaved family erected a handsome mono- 


went to their father's memory, the pedestal being a square block 
of marble, containing 373,248 solid inches, thus making the 
length of each side six feet. Generally it is best to keep family 
affairs quiet, but Horatio preferred to write many a treatise on 
this subject, and explain it to the world. 

With such a childhood ,*is it any wonder our hero became in 
after years the child's detestation, the school-boy's bogy, the 
school-girl's horror, the author of many an arithmetic — Horatio 
N. Robinson ! 


When traveling through Texas, California, and Mexico, you 
see thousands of acres of land enclosed for the purpose of rais- 
ing stock. The ranches in Texas are of two kinds. Those in 
the older and more settled parts consist of from two to four 
hundred thousand acres; those in the northern and more unset- 
tled parts comprise even more land and are enclosed by means 
of barbed wire fences. Both are stocked with improved breeds 
of cattle; — horses, cows, sheep, hogs, and sometimes camels. 

The first thing to be considered in the purchase of a ranch is 
the choice of suitable land. It must be as near as possible to a 
river or creek, for it is no easy matter to drive the stock to and 
from water. It is very inconvenient to be far from a stream, 
because in the summer the roads are so dusty and the heat so 
intense that the stock almost famish before they can reach it. 
Another important point is pasturage. The grass must be of 
the proper kind and of sufficient amount. Texas ranches are 
generally chosen on the south side of a hill, that they may have 
some protection against those terrible cold winds called "north- 
ers." Sometimes in winter it is so cold that a great many of the 
stock freeze to death; and often ranchmen bring little lambs into 
their tents to keep them warm. 

ST. MARY'S 31 USE. 149 

Last winter there was great excitement in Texas, caused by 
the cutting of the barbed wire fences around the ranches. Some 
of the owners, when building their fences, cut off their neigh- 
bors' direct "route to the water. It is true they left a gate; but 
those outside were too lazy to drive their stock all the way 
around to it, so they deliberately cut the fence where they wished 
to pass through. The owners appealed to the law. There was 
no law against the outrage, however, so they petitioned the Leg- 
islature to pass one. The petition was not granted and the poor 
ranchmen had to "grin and bear it." 

Sheep are raised extensively in Texas; they are very hardy 
animals and will live almost anywhere. One reason is the pecu- 
liar shape of their mouth and teeth, which enables them to crop 
very short grass. Horses may be raised in all the States. In 
Tennessee and Kentucky are found the finest breeds. In Chat- 
tanooga I saw a magnificent span of jet-black horses. They 
were beautifully shaped and looked indeed the noblest of ani- 
mals. In Mexico are found any number of Mustang ponies. 
They seem to do best there. They are small, fiery, and unless 
well managed, dangerous. Thousands run wild over the plains 
of Mexico. Texas has a few camel ranches. Several miles 
below Austin is a large one. I do not know why there are not 
more, for camels can live very long without water and want of 
water is the great difficulty on a Texas ranch. Many raise hogs 
on the same ranch with other stock. When there is food to be 
found, they are allowed to wander in the woods. About dark, 
however, you will hear from the barn -yard calls both long and 
loud. These are to bring the rovers home to be put away safely 
in their pen until the next day. It is difficult to describe the call. 
It is a peculiar and prolonged intonation of the vowel O and 
has an exceedingly weird sound, which may be heard for miles. 
The pigs know the call wonderfully well and, though far away, 
they start off immediately towards home, as fast as their legs can 
take them, squealing as they go. In the fall, as soon as the 
first cold comes, the fattest pigs are killed. This is quite an event 
on the farm. All hands are willing to help in order to obtain a 


share of the meat. Farmers who raise hogs have to buy very 
little other meat. I fear a Jew who attempted to live on a 
ranch would fare badly. 

Real ranch life, which is often described in newspapers and 
which is generally much exaggerated, is known only on the vast 
and boundless prairies of Southern and Western Texas, and some 
of the new States and Territories. There the cattle roam wild 
over the prairies for eight months. After this they are "rounded 
up" for marking and to be driven to market. Marking is done 
in several ways. The method generally employed seems to be 
very cruel. Iron letters, attached to a long handle, are heated 
red-hot and placed on the thigh of the poor animal. This burns 
the hair so that it will never grow in that place again. When 
the burn is healed the mark is very plain. A strong hand has 
to hold the poor beast while another does the marking. When 
the wretch is freed, woe to any one near. After the branding 
and marking season is passed the "keep cattle" roam over the 
prairies again and have but slight attention. 

Cattle three years old are reserved for the "keep market" and 
the remainder are driven away to be sold. Herds belonging to 
twenty or thirty different men run together. The drivers em- 
ployed are in proportion to the number of cattle. When all is 
ready, off the cow-boys start, pell-mell, on their ponies. They 
generally drive at least four extra ponies. These poor animals 
suffer a great deal. No food is provided for them. The only 
thing that keeps them alive is the prairie grass, and this is by no 
means plentiful. When one gives out, the cow-boy lassoes another 
and continues his journey. A few pack-mules are needed to 
carry the provisions. These provisions consist of "jerked beef," 
corn bread, sugar, coffee, a good supply of whiskey, and smok- 
ing tobacco. Thousands of cattle pass my home during the year, 
most of them on the way to Kansas. When we hear that a 
drove is to pass, all the children rush down to the banks of the 
river to see them cross. The grown cattle swim and sometimes 
the young calves nearly drown in their attempts to do the same. 
Very often a cow-boy has to take one up on his saddle and bear it 


across. When the water is cold the herd refuse to cross and this 
causes a stampede. The cattle rush in all directions and the 
cow-boys have to ride after them. Sometimes, without any appar- 
ent reason whatever, the stock behave in this highly undignified 

Chicago, St. Louis, and Cincinnati have the largest stock- 
markets in the United States, if not in the world. The trade 
is always transacted on the outskirts of the city, near the junc- 
tion of railroads. The market in Chicago covers three hun- 
dred and forty-five acres, of which one hundred acres are taken 
up by pens. The large supply of water needed is secured by 
artesian wells. As a market for live stock, Chicago is the most 
important centre in the United States. For some time Cincin- 
nati held the first place, but Chicago has now surpassed her in 
this as in many other respects. It is thought that she will one 
day deprive New York of her proud position as the metropolis 
of the United States. Though this prophesy remains to be ful- 
filled, we must own that, as far as her stock-market goes, she 
stands first. The amount of beef packed yearly is enormous. 
The regular packing season extends from November 1st to March 
1st, but summer packing may be done with advantage. Eng- 
land has just given to the Chicago markets two immense orders; 
one for four million, the other for five million cans of beef for 
the English army. Seventy thousand cattle will be needed to 
fill the order. It is a difficult matter to obtain so large a num- 
ber at once, but Chicago will hardly be daunted by such a trifle. 

The cow-boy is rather a strange looking sight, dressed in his 
hickory shirt, over-alls, and tremendous sombrero, having a lasso 
in his hand or hanging from his saddle. He lias two six-shoot- 
ers at his saddle-bow and another at his belt. A model cow- 
boy can bring down an antelope or bear with very little diffi- 
culty at a distance of two hundred yards. Among these riders 
of our plains are some who might grace high positions. A num- 
ber of refined, educated men make this their business in order 
to recuperate their health. The late Earl of Abysford owned 
and operated an extensive ranch at Big Springs, on the Pacific 


Railroad in Texas. Wild though he looks, the cow-boy is as 
chivalrous in taking the side of the weak against the strong 
and in his respect for women, as were the knights of old. 

The ranchman's house, covered as it generally is with vines, 
looks very inviting to the weary traveler after he has ridden 
many miles under a burning Texas sun. The inmates are cele- 
brated for their hospitality; to them all visitors are welcome. 
Their first impulse always is to give you something to eat and 
drink; home-made wine and fresh fruit. If anything more 
substantial is needed, it may be easily provided. The poultry- 
yard is literally teeming with chickens, ducks, turkeys, and geese. 
These the mistress takes care of, priding herself on their size 
and "points." Isolation in the country is the only drawback to 
ranch life. The owner and his family have no society and no 
school or church privileges. After a few years, however, the 
ranchman becomes independent and is able to give his children 
every advantage of education. His profits soon treble those of 
regular farming. There is less labor than you would imagine, 
and the greater part of it falls on the horses. It is true that 
the men have to do a great deal of hard riding, but they soon get 
accustomed to it as well as to the attendant exposure. Although 
the children look rough and wild, still they are the happiest of 
little souls. 

The boys take much pleasure in rabbit-hunting. If they are 
too young to be trusted with a gun they are content to go with 
only their dogs, which they have had in training for some time. 
The rabbits most prized are the "mule-eared," _so called on 
account of the shape and size of their ears and seldom found 
out of Texas. Sometimes the ears are more than six inches 
long and stand straight up on the head, as do those of a mule 
when he is listening attentively. These rabbits are considerably 
larger than ordinary ones and have very long legs. 

One of the great attractions of life on the prairies is its per- 
fect freedom. Again, everything speaks of Mother Nature's 
love for her children. In spring and autumn the vast fields are 
literally covered with flowers of every imaginable hue — phlox, 

ST. MARY'S 3IUSE. 153 

primroses, daisies, blue-bells. Many are perfectly blue with the 
blue-bells. You cannot conceive how beautiful such an one is. 
The flowers grow to be about a foot high and are rooted together 
very thickly. There are no trees to be found. Now and then 
you will see a clump of scrubby-looking oaks or mesquites, seem- 
ingly a mere freak of nature. However, they serve to shelter 
stock from the heat of the sun. 

In summer the prairies are covered with tall grass, which is 
quite dry when fall begins and is easily burnt off. Near one of 
these fires you may distinguish the watchmen running hither and 
thither, building opposition fires to prevent progress further than 
intended. As far as you can see is one seething gulf, the smoke 
rolling over and above the ground. Now and then immense 
flames leap high in the air, casting a strange light on the fig- 
ures hurrying to and fro. At times these fires become so fierce 
and advance so rapidly as to destroy houses and barns. This 
may be prevented by setting fire to the grass around and burning 
a clear space, which the flames cannot cross. The change from 
fields of endless bloom to the parched and blackened waste 
is desolate. Nevertheless, prairie fires do a great deal of good. 
They clear the ground of all thistles and like obstacles, and so 
make the grass grow better. Neither ranchmen nor cattle could 
well do without their aid. They are the ill wind that blows 
them the greatest good. 


There have been means of conducting water into cities and 
buildings from very early times. The aqueducts of Egypt and 
Babylonia are the most ancient that we have any account of. The 
royal canal of Babylon was built in 1700 B. C. It was after- 
wards repaired by Nebuchadnezzar and put to splendid use for 
the passage of merchant ships. The pools of Solomon near 


Bethlehem and the canal constructed by the Persians are among 
the most ancient water-works. The pools of Solomon consisted 
of three reservoirs, from which the water was conducted to Jeru- 
salem, six miles distant, by suitable pipes. At the present time 
Jerusalem is supplied with water from these pools through ten- 
inch earthen pipes. The Romans also constructed aqueducts of 
stupendous size, by which the pure water of very distant streams 
ran through the streets of Rome and through the sewers to 
cleanse and purify them. 

The famous Croton aqueduct of New York, the Lake Tun- 
nel of Chicago, leading from Lake Michigan, and the London 
and Paris water-works are among the most noted and remarka- 
ble of the present time. Paris is supplied with water from the 
lime hills, very far distant. It was noticed that the strongest 
conscripts were from the limestone district. Their fine physiques 
were attributed to the water of the country, and pipes were laid 
to Paris to supply it with the same. The most wonderful and 
yet simple water-works are the artesian wells in the Desert of 
Sahara. Villages and gardens flourish where before these wells 
were struck there was nothing but sandy plain. 

The principles employed in any of these constructions are 
few. The water is always brought from one high place to seek 
its level in another, or it is forced up by means of machinery. 
Often a ram is made use of. That is, a portion of the water is 
carried by means of its own momentum to an air-chamber and 
driven thence into the pipe by the elasticity of the compressed 
air. The soil and the cultivation of the place whence water is 
brought should be considered. It is conducted from a spring or 
stream through three reservoirs, and then by pipes into the 
cities and buildings. A filtering process is gone through to 
purify the water for use. The mouth of the pipe should always 
be full of w T ater, not air, to prevent corrosion. There are three 
systems for supplying water: the Reservoir, Stand-pipe, and 
Holly Systems. The first two are sometimes classed as one, 
called the Gravity System. 


The water-works which we are to consider particularly are 
those of Raleigh and St. Mary's. Raleigh, as yet, has none; but 
there is reason to hope she will soon have a fine system. About 
three miles west of our city is a charming spot. Before you 
enter the enclosure you see a cosy summer cottage surrounded 
by beautiful shade trees. At the gate you catch your first glimpse 
of the clear lake. Although artificial, it has been constructed 
with much taste. It is surrounded by green trees and grass, and 
the little jutting points and curves in the bank seem the work 
of nature itself. It is filled with fine fish, and a small stream 
on the right side of the lake is spanned by a "cute" little rustic 
bridge. On the opposite side you come to a spring, protected by 
a stone covering. The water is delightful, so cool and pure that, 
having once tasted it, you always long for another draught. On 
warm summer days to go to ''Camp Mangum," as the place is 
called, is your heart's desire. It might better have been named 
Park Mangum. The crowning touch, in the eyes of young peo- 
ple at least, are a dancing platform and a band-stand, making the 
place most desirable for picnics. Who would think, as he admires 
the lovely scene, that it was once most unattractive? The owner, 
Maj. R. S. Tucker, has converted rough farm lands into a park, 
and shown that energy and taste may fill even a wilderness with 
artistic beauty. It is from this lake at "Camp Mangum" that 
water may be obtained for the supply of Raleigh. There are 
several hills a short distance from "Spring Lake," as it is called, 
and the water could be forced up one of k these hills into a reser- 
voir. The distributing reservoir could in that case be at the 
Central Railroad, thereby giving the water a fall of 156 feet. 
It is not yet sure whether the city will be supplied in this man- 
ner, or by artesian wells, or in some other way. The citizens 
realize the importance of a good water supply and it is sure that 
we shall have it sometime in the not very far distant future. 

The water-works of St. Mary's are already completed. Just 
behind the school is a field and back of that is a pretty wood. 
After reaching the woods you walk a short distance down a path, 
where violets, daisies, and forget-me-nots grow in the spring, 


tempting you to stop and pluck them. A little way beyond is 
an open place from which a splendid view of Raleigh is obtained. 
It looks very pretty nestling in the valley below. A few more 
steps through a wood brings you to your destination. The lake, 
the green trees, the blossoming shrubs, and the sunlight form a 
beautiful picture. The lake is made by the damming of a 
stream whith runs through the woods. The pipes are placed 
below the surface of the water so as to allow a free flow. The 
ram is double, one chamber at the edge of the lake, the other 
three or four steps away. Standing over the ram, you hear a 
sound like a man hammering, which is caused by the opening 
and shutting of the valves in the air-chamber. The pipes from 
the ram pass through the woods, following the hill for some dis- 
tance, then through the field and garden up to St. Mary's School. 
The water is conducted over the entire building and we should 
have no fear even in a severe water famine, for our pretty lake 
in the w 7 ood supplies us bountifully. 

Then we have our glorious well, and I will not forsake the 
old for the new. The little lake is lovely, but it has not the 
associations of our well. What crowds of girls have stood 
around the moss-covered bucket and sent their merry laughter 
to echo in the depths below! Those depths are very far down, 
and it was with great difficulty that they were reached. The 
workmen had to blast through ten or twelve feet of rock; but 
it was worth the trouble, for now we have excellent water with 
the very same properties as the famous Paris water; that is, lime 
and iron. It comes from forty feet under ground. Our old 
oaken bucket will always be among our pleasantest recollections. 



A small spot of ground on one of the many curves of the 
swift flowing Mississippi, now attracts the interest of the world. 
And when we look upon the collection here gathered from many 
nations and mark the height civilization has attained in each, 
our thoughts must needs wander back to the time when these 
grounds were not so occupied, and farther back still to the years 
when no busy circle of human life was close at hand, when soli- 
tude and silence reigned supreme, broken only by the voice of 
the wandering savage. There are still representatives of that 
time, grand oaks covered with grey moss. Three hundred years 
ago these had companions like themselves, no doubt, and with 
them formed one of the great primeval forests of Louisiana. 
The clear, rushing waters of the noble river often lashed these 
monarchs of the wood in wii)dy rage, and again quietly receded 
as though remorseful for the harm done, regardless of the good. 
Then came relentless civilization, destroying in part the beauty 
nature had wrought. Some of the trees were felled to bar the 
river's progress in his annual visitations. Later still, this 
became the fate of manv and now the few remaining, though 
many for these times, form two splendid avenues, their arms 
lovingly interlaced, as though determined not to be separated iu 
their old age. A few stand defiantly alone and stretch forth 
their strong, gnarled arms, covered with clinging moss, to the 
protecting sky. Silent spectators of changing scenes have these 
venerable oaks been and, could they speak, how many wondrous 
tales they might unfold. They have been faithful sentinels of the 
Prince of Rivers. Perhaps they stretched their first leaves to 
catch a glimpse of mere rough logs, bearing human burdens on 
the rippling waves. Perhaps they saw the first frail canoe 
launched and later watched the rafts, burdened with exiles, float 
aimlessly down the stream. After the first shock of shouting, 
puffing steam-boats, the most alarming sight was the approach 
of the booming, smoking man-of-war in 1802. All this and 



much more could the old oaks tell, and the climax of the tale 
would be a description of the World's Exposition. The trees 
now look calmly down on smoothly laid out grounds covered 
with soft, velvety grass and beds of bright flowers, and crossed 
by streams spanned by rustic bridges. 

But as regards the buildings, the penetration of the oaks fails. 
They leave these to us. So taking up their tale, we begin with 
the exhibits of the States, most interesting in our opinion. Each 
has vied with the others in presenting to the world its rarest 
possessions and products. Days, yes, and weeks could not be 
better or more pleasantly spent than in looking over the numer- 
ous and well arranged displays from all parts of the Union. 
The Government Building is by no means so large as the Main 
Building — wherein are placed the exhibits of foreign countries, 
and a display of machinery, and also of firms — but it is filled 
with many interesting things, and with the specialties of each 
State. Here are no trifles for sale, no advertisements of new, 
and, is it necessary to add, useless articles. Over it are not scat- 
tered in every direction stalls with Indian curiosities made in the 
North. Turks — salesmen, at that — learned in regard to the 
American language, are not calling the attention of passers-by 
to relics from the East. Such, however, is the case in the Main 
Building. The Government Building is devoted entirely to the 
affairs of the United States. Bright-colored flags and streamers 
hang among the rafters, and everywhere electric lights are sus- 
pended. But let us inspect the exhibits. Judging from these, 
the North-western States must literally be covered with fields 
of waving, golden grain. Minnesota, Nebraska, and Dakota are 
most prominent in this respect. Pretty grassy pagodas adorn 
the squares of nearly all these States, and in Nebraska the , 
native grasses form a figure of "Liberty enlightening the world." 
On one of the screens devoted to corn is a crowued head, and 
above the inscription, also of the grain, "Corn is King." Min- 
nesota has a representation of the " Falls of Minnehaha." Piled 
high are rocks and grassy soil, and over these a stream of water 
falls constantly. Little gold-fish inhabit the lake below, and 


dart about as though frightened by the continuous throng. Min- 
nesota's specimens of flour are good, as are the fish from her Fish 
Commission. Dakota has arranged a park, with her wild ani- 
mals therein. Among the number are a white buffalo, Ameri- 
can antelopes, mountain sheep, and other and stranger animals. 
The heads of two deer locked together, show that they died so, 
fighting, no doubt. We see that all this country abounds in 
grain, and the greater part of it in gold and silver, as well as the 
baser metals. The quantity and quality of Dakota's vegetables 
are praiseworthy. Many fossils and Indian relics, too, have 
been found. Oregon's exhibit speaks in strongest language of 
her richness of soil. The number of pounds which some of her 
vegetables weigh is astonishing; for instance, there are rutabagas 
of fifty-eight pounds, and many of the carrots are thirty-two 
inches long. A stump has been preserved under which a man 
discovered a mine worth five millions of dollars. Is it any 
wonder that the ugly gnarled piece of wood occupies so promi- 
nent a place in Oregon's display? The principal and most 
attractive productions of Xew Mexico, Colorado, Arizona, and 
Nevada are the ores. Many of these are of great value. There 
is a display from Cedar Creek county, Arizona, where silver was 
first discovered. It is said that this mining territory, fifteen 
miles long and six miles wide, has produced thirty millions of 
dollars. The interest of most of these States seems to be min- 
ing. Large nuggets of gold and silver are shown,. also photo- 
graphs of the principal mines and models of mining instru- 
ments. Many of the above mentioned States and Territories 
have a good many petrifactions. Xevada has a particularly 
pretty instance, a nest with birds' eggs in it; and there are also 
casts of enormous feet, found far beneath the ground. 

California's vegetables, grains, and grasses are famous. But 
the most wonderful of her specimens is the section of the first 
big tree discovered. It is a species of cedar, I think. The sec- 
tion was taken 110 feet from the ground, and even at that height 
measured seventeen feet in diameter. Thirty-two couples can 
dance on the stump, so they say. California may be proud of 


her variety of grain-seed. One firm alone presents six hundred 
and forty samples. Her minerals of course are good. The 
schools of Illinois brighten up her.section, also photographs of 
Chicago and other prominent points in the state. Wisconsin's 
Women's Work is notable, and the inmates of the Blind Asylum 
have here lent a helping hand. Indiana's Encaustic Tide Dis- 
play serves not only to show her wealth of soil, but also the 
ingenuity existing within her bounds. This state also stands fore- 
most in vegetables and salt. She has over six hundred kinds of 
potatoes, the largest variety of the states. Massachusetts, as usual^ 
is not without interesting relics of the Revolution and memoirs 
of Washington's inauguration. Besides her industrial resources 
she has displayed the efforts and accomplishments of her educa- 
tional and charitable institutions. Her sister states have some- 
what similar exhibits. Arkansas is noted for her fine apples, and 
her exhibit at the Exposition fully verifies this reputation. The 
large Shannon apple is wonderful in size, and the "Maiden's 
Blush" is exquisite in color and shape. These and other fruits 
make it evident that she is a first-rate fruit state. Of course 
she has other products not unlike those of the states surrounding 
her. Curious mound-relics form a part of this display, and it is 
a strange fact, worthy of notice, that the small vessels and 
figures were found with children's skeletons, and the larger ones 
with the bones of adults. These were discovered a few miles from 
Little Rock.- All the figures are in a sitting position. Georgia 
does not come up to her sister states in quantity, but excels in 
quality. She exhibits the whole process of making turpentine; 
the still and a section of pine tree, the latter cut so as to collect the 
rosin, which is also shown in its different forms. Her specimens 
of timber are prettily put up in book form, the bark making the 
back of the binding, which pretty idea reminds us of the fact that 
back and book were once synonymous. Maryland abounds in 
models. The first locomotive ever run in America is one, and 
it is a strange affair when compared with the modern engine. 
The first passenger car is another, and is equally primitive. 
There are many relics of the Revolution, and others that date 


farther back than that. An old bell, perhaps the oldest in 
America, is shown. It is said to have been brought over by the 
Jesuits to Maryland, and was used by them as the Vesper bell 
that pealed through old "St. Mary's City," the state's first capi- 
tal. Nothing stands to mark the site of this ancient city, 
founded in 1643. A bomb is to be seen which was fired by the 
British in their attack upon Baltimore in 1814. Maryland has 
many other objects of like interest, as oil paintings of all the 
Presidents, down to Lincoln. The state's resources are not to 
be overlooked. Her marble is fine, also her other ores. Dif- 
ferent species of owls are prominent among the birds, and geese 
are not lacking. Corn stands foremost among; the vegetables. 
Virginia has many fine samples of tobacco from Richmond, and 
a large display of corn and ores. Minerals take up the greater 
portion of the department, and would be thought more than sat- 
isfactory by one interested in mineralogy. The Old Dominion 
State utterly ignores the many relics she might present, and from 
her exhibit it would be rather hard to think of her as the most 
ancient Commonwealth in the Union. Coal seems to have 
entirely monopolized the attention of West Virginia, and her 
specimens are not to be equalled. Xew York's schools have done 
much for her, and the art-work shown is as beautiful as select. 
Her specimens of marble and granite are excellent. Here, too, 
the "Cleveland gem" shines brilliantly, as well as other dia- 
monds. It is the largest ever cut in America and is said to be 
sold to Minnie Palmer for forty thousand dollars. South Caro- 
lina's centre figure is a large monument of Phosphates, which at 
at present seem to be her principal product. Last year were 
mined four hundred thousand tons, at §2,500,000. The "Pal- 
metto State" has other products, but they are like those of the 
states already described. Balmy Florida has shown us many 
of her tropical resources. Quite a number of bright, feathery 
ferns grace the department, and there are not a few trees pecu- 
liar to that state, among them the Yew-tree, and the Indian 
Fig or Rubber-tree. Florida's famous oranges are abundant, 
grape fruit and citron also. She has, too, an excellent display 
of art from the University of Fine Arts. 


But the exhibits of the Government Building; are those 
belonging to Texas, and Louisiana, and North Carolina. These 
are universally considered the best. Texas is making up for her 
former neglect in regard to expositions. Her display is one of 
the largest as well as one of the most interesting in the house, and 
full of peculiar things from the " Wild West." The ladies of Gal- 
vestou, Dallas, and San Antonio have exerted all their talents in 
arrangement. In the pavilion devoted to beatiful embroideries and 
paintings, is a set of parlor furniture. The arms and legs of the 
chairs and sofa are made of the highly polished long horns of the 
Western Texas cattle. There are, too, quite a number of good 
paintings. One, very pretty and natural, is of the San Jose 
Mission. This is a picturesqe ruin, just a few miles out of San 
Antonio. Of course there is a portrait of General Sam. Houston. 
A wonderful table, or rather a desk, is the chief attraction. It is 
very long and slants on the sides. It was made by a convict of 
the State, Penitentiary in ninety days, and is inlaid with one 
hundred and fifty kinds of Texas woods in figures of native 
birds, animals, and insects. This is such a remarkable work 
that some think the having made it will gain the workman his 
pardon. A large case displays many insects, some very poison- 
ous, as centipedes and tarantulas. There are many wild animals, 
among which is a beautiful stuffed jaguar, which deserves par- 
ticular mention on account of its size and fine skin. Several 
immense bales of cotton occupy one corner, affording great sat- 
isfaction to cotton seekers. On the whole the "Lone Star State" 
need not be ashamed of her exhibit. Neither need Louisiana, 
for that matter. In a glass-case King Cotton and his wife, 
Louisiana, sit side by side. The figures are made entirely of 
cotton in its raw r and manufactured state, and are as grotesque 
as good. Several bales, too, are shown. So much for Louisiana's 
cotton. Her section is large and in one part is a high tower 
built of native canes, and growing narrower as it nears the roof 
of the building. Some of the bamboos are thirty feet in length. 
The Avery Salt Mines present a tall, well-cut column of salt, 
with the base surrounded by many loose lumps. Louisiana's 


animal products are not to be overlooked. A stuffed alliga- 
tor, fourteen feet long, looks alarmingly natural, and beside it a 
huge turtle has been placed. Silk is shown in the different 
stages, as well as rice and sugar. The wax- work is so beautiful 
and wonderfully natural that more than one have been deceived. 
The fruits are especially realistic. Although Xorth Carolina's 
exhibit is extremely different from those of her competitors, she 
ranks as high as either. Her fish display seems most attractive 
and is very complete with many different kinds of fish, from 
Beaufort and Elizabeth City principally. Under a shining 
pagoda covered with mica, are the richest gems of the "Old 
North State." Among these, be sure, are the Hiddenites. Dia- 
monds, too, form a part of the collection. There are nuggets of 
gold worth two thousand dollars. The samples of tobacco are 
many and varied, and corn, wheat, and other grains are not to 
be missed. 

The Smithsonian Institute has sent a display to the Exposi- 
tion, and it has been placed in the Government Buildftig. Some 
things shown are not unlike those presented by the states, but 
there are many other things. Included in this number are the 
queer Indian relics, among them the sacred dance shields of the 
Moki Indians; also, the Esquimaux masks made of drift-wood 
and the feathers of sea-birds. Some of the masks are used in 
fetes and dances, others in covering the faces of the dead. 
Beautiful basket-work of the Alaska Indians forms a part of 
this collection, as do their implements of war. 

In another part of the building are many interesting things 
used by the Greely Relief Party on their expedition. Dummies 
in Arctic apparel are surrounded by the boats, tents, and arms 
employed. Even the provisions are not missing. There are the 
two large whale-boats that carried the dead from the Bear. Also 
an Esquimaux Hyack. 

One side of the gallery, which extends all around the Govern- 
ment Building, is devoted to women's work. Xearly every State 
has taken part in this, and each has succeeded in making an 
artistic and attractive display. Painting and embroidery form 


a large part, but feminine skill has been exerted in more than 
one direction. The success of this undertaking is largely clue to 
Mrs. Julia Ward Howe, the President of the Society of Women's 
Work, who, by her lectures and other labors, has added not a 
little to the required fund. The educational department occupies 
another part of the gallery, and consists of exhibits from differ- 
ent schools, universities and missionary societies of the United 
States, and some foreign countries. The commendable efforts of 
the little Kindergartens are displayed, as well as those of the 
higher schools and the universities. A large number of colored 
schools is represented. 

In quite another part of the grounds is the Art Gallery, built 
of sheet-iron, in Gothic style. In it are four divisions. The 
first and central room contains sculpture and some paintings. 
The hall to the right of the entrance is filled with Mexican 
pieces, some of which are three centuries old. Here the pre- 
vailing style gives an impression of grandeur. Quiet beauty is 
not treated so often as majesty. In the hall to the left is the 
Belgian collection. This is somewhat different, but in its way 
as good. In the last hall, which extends the whole length of 
the building, are hung the works of American artists, together 
with some French, English, and Italian pieces. They are alto- 
gether beyond description, and long hours could be spent pon- 
dering over each. 

The Horticultural Hall is entirely of glass and, when lighted 
with electric lights, resembles a crystal palace. In the centre 
is a large fountain, whose numerous jets shed their spray on the 
surrounding Mexican palms and lofty Arizona cacti. Tables 
extend the length of the building, covered with fruit. Numerous 
strange plants from the tropics are to be found in the hot-house. 
Among them are over a hundred species of Orchids. Stuck up 
here and there, and everywhere, with their odd little blossoms, 
they are the objects of much interest. In every possible nook 
are light feathery ferns, or others whose size forms their attrac- 
tion. Among the Jamaica plants are the ginger plant, from 
which our extract is made, cinnamon, cloves, and vanilla 


trees. The different species of cactus are interesting, especially 
the cochineal cactus, having upon it the insect from which the 
cochineal is obtained. Some queer Mexican fruits are in this 
exhibit, and there are cocoauuts in every stage of growth. 

In variety of interest, the Main Building stands first. In it 
are contained the Music Hall, the foreigu exhibits, the machinery, 
and the firm exhibits. The last show almost everything manu- 
factured. The building is the largest ever erected under one 
roof, and the size of it never looks so great as when you stand 
on its tower. The roof seems never-ending. A splendid view 
may be obtained here of- the "Crescent Citv" and her surround- 
ings, and by the aid of a field-glass on a bright, clear day, you 
may see Lake Ponchartrain in the distance. The Music Hall is 
in the centre of the building, and is capable of seating eleven 
thousand. Forming a background to the stage, is the second 
largest organ in the world, made by Pilcher and Brothers. It 
is called a very fine instrument, and though it does not show to 
the best advantage in the large, open hall, it will swell magnifi- 
cently through the Jesuits' Church, where it is to be placed after 
the Exposition. Doubtless it will add not a little to the fine 
reputation which that church already has in music. The grand 
Mexican Band fills the hall, and with its powerful as well as 
sweet music holds an audience entranced for hours. 

On either side of the Music Hall are the foreign exhibits, the 
majority of which are neither extensive nor good. Some few 
excel, and in a way make up for the defects of others. Russia 
has not only an entertaining, but a rich display. Exquisite 
furs and fine skins, from the far north, surround stuffed white 
wolves, and rather small bears. Her bronze work is particu- 
larly attractive. Life-like peasant scenes are finely carved, and 
the expressions on the minute faces are wonderful. There is a 
variety of brass vessels in which the Russians make tea. The 
fire is in the centre and the water around it. The plan reminds 
you somewhat of an ice-cream freezer, though it seems a pity to 
compare the shining vessels in which the next finest, some 
think the finest, tea in the world is brewed, with the uncouth 


freezer. The hot water is drawn off by a faucet and poured 
directly on the tea. This constitutes the making. Some of the 
sleighs shown are beautiful, but chiefly in their trappings of 
heavy fur rugs. A piano from Moscow is made half of ebony 
and handsomely carved. There are many ornaments of mala- 
chite, and some entire tables of this beautiful stone. Belgium, 
too, has no lack of rich and rare articles. Her dazzling nflrrors 
speak well for that class of her manufactures. But better still 
does the display of linen and cotton goods tell of her thrift. 
The Vernier's Chamber of Commerce shows five hundred differ- 
ent styles of goods, neatly arranged in panels. Last and chief 
is her hand-made lace. Italy offers most of her work for sale, 
which takes from the effect. The beautiful laud of song and 
poetry presents filigree, coral, and tortoise-shell at so much 
apiece. True, her Pompeiian bronzes and her Mosaics are beau- 
tiful, and the shell-work striking, but the entire effect is hardly 
like our dream of Italy. The French exhibit is principally 
artistic. There is a good deal of painting and statuary. 
Exquisitely tinted china flowers are a novelty, and the immense 
hand-painted vases are rare and costly. The bronze work is 
elegant. Most deserving of mention are two life-size figures of 
Sepoy slaves. England and Ireland have small exhibits. 
Jamaica's presentation is characteristic; a goodly show of cocoa- 
nuts, also the "coir" from which the cocoa-mattiug is made. 

Japan has mostly ornamental articles; vases of china, metal, 
and bronze inlaid with gold. They are rich and rare. Indeed 
one pair is valued at one thousand six hundred dollars, and 
it is worth it, representing six years of steady labor. She 
has silks and laces too. The latter some have thought equal to 
Brussels lace. China has some of the same products, but her 
exhibit is principally cotton, it having been prepared for the cot- 
ton centennial. The mode of raising and manufacturing cotton 
is certainly primitive. The plowing is done with a crooked 
bough, having a thin iron piece at the end. The other imple- 
ments are on the same order. A three-pronged hoe does the 
tilling. Specimens of all the cotton machinery are given, and 

-ST. MARY'S MUSE. 167 

even figures placed in the position to work it. Dummies are 
clothed with the dresses the Chinese wear on state occasions, 
and one has on the apparel of a Buddhist Priest, another that 
of a bride. 

Mexico has by far the largest, as well as the most entertain- 
ing of foreign exhibits. Antiquities, consisting of queerly shaped 
bowls' and figures, strangely marked and painted, evidently gods 
of the ancient Mexicans, resemble Egyptian relics; which fact 
serves to make them onlv more interesting. In her marbles 
there is great variety, both in regard to the color and qualtity; 
but among all her stones, none are so beautiful or so varied as 
her onyx. Nature has even gone so far as to paint a landscape 
in one piece, and the effect is striking. In some of the glass- 
cases are the famous Dulces or sweet-meats; from Guadalajara 
perhaps; and I do assure you they are tempting. In coffee, 
Java and Rio Janeiro had better look out for Mexico; she 
might step before them in furnishing it to the United States. 
Her display is not only large, but fine in quality. Mexico has 
brought out most prominently all her exports, but principally 
sugar, tobacco, and cochineal. She can well afford to send out 
the first, as Morelia alone frequently furnishes 50,000,000 pounds 
yearly. We are glad that this country, so rich in natural 
resources, has at last taken its place in commerce. True, it will 
have bull -fights outside of the grounds on Sunday: but we 
must make some allowances. Mexico is not behind in manu- 
factures; there is quite an amount of silk and cotton goods, and 
elegant saddles unequalled in any other Spanish- American coun- 
try. In one portion of the roomy section is a street-car like 
ours, only larger aud more highly furnished. These never run 
single. Three generally run together, with a policeman on each. 
The Mexicans are always armed. Pistols form a part of their 

I shall not attempt to describe the machinery, for it is beyond 
my comprehension. The engine exhibit is full of monsters 
from all parts of the United States. Three large wheels in the 
centre of Machinery Hall turn everything that turns in the 


building, and it is wonderful. Most of the manufactures are 
from home firms, but some are foreign. 

The question arises: Is the "World's Industrial and Cotton 
Centennial Exposition" a success or not? All know that finan- 
cially it is a failure. Many complaints have been made of mis- 
management and carelessness in regard to the finances, and 
throughout the North many bitter and also untruthful notices 
have been published. These largely account for the small 
attendance from the North. Not a few have gone to the Cres- 
cent City expecting nothing and returned agreeably disappointed 
and fully satisfied. In one of the derogatory articles above men- 
tioned the statement was made that, being financially a failure, 
the Exposition cannot be a success in any respect. From this 
I beg leave to differ. How can the means of bringing together 
more than one once hostile nation, of establishing commercial rela- 
tions between countries far and near, and of forming a kindlier 
link between North and South be termed an utter failure? Even 
so, how can an ingenious display, rich and varied, and artisti- 
cally arranged, from every State in the Union, and from foreign 
countries too, be of no use? There has been much talk of open- 
ing the Exposition again next winter. We hope that this will 
be done, and that financially it may yet be as great a success 
as it already is in every other way. 


H. H.'s latest work is "Eamona," a thrilling and exciting 
story, in which the authoress soars above all that she has hereto- 
fore attempted. She seems to strive to reach the better part of 
man, his sense of justice, his hatred of wrong and injury, and 
above all, his unbounded sympathy. 

The story opens with a graphic description of Mexican and 
Indian life on a ranch, and throughout every page is full of 
interest. The style is very forcible and the book might, by 
some, be called prejudiced. 


The accounts of the outrages done the Indians, after New 
Mexico became a possession of the United States, are vivid pic- 
tures of the cruel course pursued. Mrs. Jackson carries the 
reader with absorbing interest through fearful scenes of blood- 
shed, to witness at one time whole villages of Indians driven 
from home and friends and rewarded with a death-shot for 
attempting any resistance; their houses molested, their heirlooms 
and old relics, some of which they held in the greatest reverence, 
utterly destroyed, and almost in their very presence, families of 
whites moving into their prized homes. 

The gentle, loving Ramona, with her child-like faith and sim- 
plicity, was herself half Indian, while her lover, the noble and 
spirited Alessandro, was entirely so. 

Her flight with him from her home of luxury, his ever-grow- 
ing devotion for her, never lessened by the many and cruel dis- 
appointments they underwent, and the unwavering love and 
loyalty of them both to God and their race give wide scope for 
interest. The authoress has also brought in many other charm- 
ing characters and exciting events. 

Of the Senora Moreno, one would say that she is a decided 
mixture of good and evil. While there are things about her 
character which one cannot but admire; as, for instance, her 
devotion to her only child, her adorable son, Felipe, and her 
constancy to her church; on the other hand, her dislike, almost 
hatred, for her adopted daughter, Ramona, shows her to be a 
woman of strong prejudice. 

The young Senor Felipe is a character about which there is 
not much to say. A fond and tender son to his idolizing mother, 
an affectionate and thoughtful brother to Ramona, one could 
scarcely show anything against him, except, perhaps, his weak- 
ness in allowing his mother to rule his every action to suit 

The frontiersman, Jos. Hyar, his wife, "Aunt Ri," and his 
sou, Josh, come up well to our idea of good old-fashioned coun- 
try folks. 


An objection which many bring against H. H., is Ramona's 
second marriage. They seem to think that after Alessandro's 
death nothing of happiness should come to his widow. But the 
authoress cannot be justly blamed for a happy ending of the 
book. No one likes to read a story that is altogether sad, and 
as Ramona's whole life had been one of trials and sorrow, why 
should she not seek refuge in a second love, which though, per- 
haps, not so fervent and unselfish as the first, was true, and 
offered every hope of a happy home? 

This book has been published very recently, but it seems 
to have met with popular favor, and has added so much to the 
reputation of Mrs. Helen Jackson, that whenever one sees either 
prose or poetry over her signature he feels well assured that he 
has something worth reading. 


Note. — The work of the Preparatory Department is published without correction. 

A gentle spring breeze is playing softly among a bed of nar- 
cissus and buttercups, while numberless butterflies flit in the 
glad sunshine, or poise themselves gracefully on the deep cups 
of the trailing woodbine. All is gay and happy except the 
narcissus; and it droops pensively over a crystal fountain at the 
end of the garden. 

"Why are you always so sad"? asks a golden buttercup of 
the narcissus, "everything around you is happy, and why are 
you always hanging your head above the fountain"? 

"Ah! replied the narcissus," [with a sigh] "that would be a 
long story, and I fear you would not have the patience to listen 
to it." 

"Oh yes indeed! I should like to hear it very much, I have 
often wondered why it is that you are always looking at your- 


self iu the fountain. Now if it were I," remarked the butter- 
cup, proudly tossing her head, "there would be some excuse; for 
I am so handsome; so different from my little cousin of the mea- 
dows. She associates with daisies and dandelions while I am fit 
to associate with roses, lilies and tulips!" 

And now amidst tears and groans, the narcissus proceeded to 
give the following account of himself: 

Long years ago I lived in the famous country of Greece. I 
was a very beautiful youth and I had been so much flattered, 
that by the time I was nearly grown, I thought my-self perfect, 
and could think of nothing but mv own beautv. I used to wan- 
der beside clear rivers and lakes, gazing at my beautiful coun- 
tenance until one day, while I was as usual admiring my-self in 
a fountain I looked down and instead of beholding; mv own 
face, I found that I was transformed into this flower! For 
Jupiter, angered at my vanity, had changed me into a narcissus!" 
Here tears cut short his narrative, and the narcissus drooped 
lower over the fountain as the full weight of his afflictions rushed 
over him. 

"Poor Narcissus" said the little hearts-ease which grew unno- 
ticed at his feet. "I too have had misfortunes! Once I was 
pure white, but love's dart pierced me and I became the color 
which you see." 

"What!" exclaimed the narcissus roused [for the time] from 
the contemplation of his own miseries, "are you then the little 
flower which Shakespeare calls "Love in Idleness"? 

"The same replied the hearts-ease sadly" but it does no good 
to grumble, so let us cheer up and look on the bright side of 

And there thev are to this dav. The narcissus drooping its 
head, the bright little hearts-ease smiling up from Mother Earth 
on every passer by, and the golden buttercup waving its head 
proudly in the breeze. 




[Translated from the French.] 

Monsieur Dumont an honest merchant had two children, a 
boy named Edward, who was a young man seventeen or eighteen 
years old who had finished his studies, and a little girl five or 
six who had not yet commenced hers. Lucy [this was the name 
of the little girl] loved dearly to question her brother, who was 
to her a great scholar, but who, was not always in a very com- 
placent humor, and to get rid of her importunities he would 
answer the first thing that came to his mind, and too often at 
the cost of the truth. In his eyes, it was not a question of 
falsehood but of simple pleasantry, which had no consequences, 
and it was then that he formed the habit of lacking sincerity, 
in spite of the wise observations of his father on this subject. 

One morning [it was the first of January a happy day for 
children] Lucy came into her brothers room joyfully holding 
up a large doll which she had received for a New Years gift. 
"What has papa given you? said she to her brother, look on my 
table said Edward. Lucy saw two new pieces of gold, and after 
having examining them well, she asked her brother frankly where 
the pieces of gold came from. Edward to amuse himself, at the 
cost of his sister according to his bad habit replied that peo- 
ple sowed seed and afterwards trees shot upward which pro- 
duced pieces of gold like cherry trees produced cherries. After 
this fine reply he went backward and forward in his room, to look 
for and dispose his effects to dress himself to go out. Lucy took 
from the table the two gold pieces, without being perceived by her 
brother and being persuaded in her naive innocence that Edward 
had told her the truth she descended to the garden, she went 
into the first square that she saw, dug two deep holes and then 
laid the two pieces of gold in the holes and covered them with 

Edward just before going out wished to take the pieces of 
gold from the table where he had left them: but he could find 


none. He asked his sister if she had touched them? Lucy did 
not hesitate to tell what she had done with them. Then she 
said: Come my brother, vou will soon have a good harvest of 

gold pieces. Edward owned in his turn that he had beer, jest- 
ing and that he had not told the truth, and he went quickly to 
the garden to find his property. But although he searched on 
all sides, Lucy could not remember in what place she had dis- 
posed the pieces of gold, and all of Edward's searching proved 
useless. Then he was angry, he grumbled, Lucy commenced to 
cry. Monseiur Dumont appeared and having learned what had 
passed, he said to his son : Of what are you complaining? Why 
have you reproached your sister when she did not deserve it? 
She knows nothing of falsehood, and was right in thinking , 
that you did not know how to deceive. I hope that what has 
happened to you will teach you a lesson, do not regret the two 
pieces of gold, if you can correct a detestable fault which in 
future might cause you the most serious consequences. Edward 
was confused, but ever after submissive to the remonstrances of 
his father, he applied himself to amend his faults, and respected 
the truth in his least words. 


Everything was in a bustle in the house, the maid was dusting 
the parlor, and the fat cook was trying in vain to catch Mr. T. 
Gobbler. As I stepped out on the porch, I saw a large decayed 
log, and from various places all sizes of heads peeped out. In 
front a large Beetle stretched her pincers and stepped out of her 
hole and disappeared in another, she appeared again and started 
at a line pace to a jar where an old toad was sleeping idly, and 
after rousing him, she commenced her shopping (for the frog 
kept a grocery store for insects), and this was what she bought: 



Mks. Beetle, 

B'ot of Mr, Toad & Co. 

ljGrubworm @ 20 cts. 

2 Jugs of Crocodile tears @ 20 " apiece. 

4 Cans of Gnats @ 10 " a can. 

2 Snake's Fangs @ 15 " apiece. 

1 Lizard Tail @ 15 " 

6 Cans of Humming-bird Eyes @ 50 " a can. 


2 Sacks of Hone}' @ 50 " a sack. 

5 Cans of Calla Lily Juice @ 50 " 

And then she went home and while she is having it cooked 
and dressed, I will tell you the names of some of the guests. 
Mr. Flea, Mr. Mosquito (who was a dude), Miss Grasshopper, a 
Dr. Bumble Bee and Miss Butterfly, besides the Beetle family, 
with all their "sisters, cousins and aunts." Of course as they 
were religious people who yearly subscribed to an asylum for 
orphans, they went to church and Dr. Bumble Bee preached the 
sermon. After service was over, they walked on home and Mrs. 
Beetle stopped to call on Mrs. Ant whose baby had the croup 
(and had kept its mother from the party) she expressed much 
regret and then hastened home to have dinner which was served 
on a green oak leaf. After dinner everybody retired to their 
rooms to dress for the dance. Mr. Flea still dressed in black, 
Miss Grasshopper put on her eye-glass, Mr. Mosquito his ball 
pants, which fitted to perfection. • Then Mr. Mosquito and Miss 
Grasshopper led of on the bouncing ball waltz (with Mr. Cricket 
to play his notions) Miss Grasshopper fell and broke her leg. 

They were all very much distressed until Mr. Flea stepped up 
and said he knew something of medicine having often tested 
people's blood, and after giving Miss Grasshopper a smart pinch 
and binding up the broken leg he said she would soon recover 
if she would take some green persimmons which you know 
must have been very bad, quite as bad as the Quinine the Doc- 
tors give now. I dare say it stood for the same purpose. I 
know our Doctors would sneer at the idea of using Quinine for 
a broken leg, but after a while she declared she was well enough 


to dance again. So as the medicine had the desired effect and it 
now being very late, some were appointed to sit up with the 
invalid, and the rest went to bed. 


A pretty Holly bush stood in the middle of a wood. It 
stood alone, and was bathed in sunlight, so that its branches 
spread out, and were covered with a thick foliage of fresh green 
leaves, and long full sprays of bright red berries. Xot far off 
and also apart from the other trees, grew a tall handsome Oak. 
The sunlight, the open air, and the rich soil, gave it strength 
and vigor, and it spread out its branches thickly covered with 
leaves. One branch hung so low that it touched the topmost 
bough of the little Holly bush, as if condescending to notice and 
converse with it. 

This little wood was a favorite resort of the village children. 
In the early spring they came to gather wild flowers; later on 
they would romp and play under the large Oak. And some- 
times they would come on a picnic, bring their dinner, and eat 
it under the Oak. In the hot summer days they came to gather 
berries, and frolic on the soft green grass under the Oak, which 
sheltered them from the burning sun, and the passing rain, which 
overtook them on their holiday excursions. Neither the sun nor 
rain could reach them through the thick foliage of the large, 
tall Oak. Our little Holly bush envied the great Oak when she 
saw the little children gathered in happy groups, and thought, 
"I cannot do any good to the little children as the great tall 
Oak does, I am only a poor little bush which no one cares for." 
But soon the autumn winds came sighing over the open fields, 
and whistling through the trees of the little wood, and blew off' 
the leaves of the large Oak and left it standing bare and 
unsightly, alone and deserted. 

176 ST. .MARY'S MUSE. 

But the little Holly bush remained pretty and warm in her 
bright dress of green and red. And when the cold, cold winter 
came, and the little wood looked bleak and desolate with its 
leafless trees, still the little Holly bush was there in its beauty. 
And year after year at the blessed Christmas tide the little chil- 
dred came to the wood, passed by unnoticed the old Oak, and 
came straight to the little Holly bush, and gathered its boughs, 
and berries to deck their little church in its Christmas dress, and 
as they sang the Christmas carols the little Holly bush was com- 
forted, and knew that though she was so small and humble, she 
too, had a mission to fulfil in contributing to the joy and love of 
the little children. 



June 11. — To-day we have said good-bye to our graduates. 
We own that it was hard to part with the four who have so 
endeared themselves to us. They said to our readers in the 
Christmas number that they were neither wise nor gifted. Of 
that our friends may judge for themselves. We are glad to 
claim them and their works; and this is sure, — that no class has 
had better courage or has better proved itself worthy of St. 
Mary's. As the Rector told them in presenting their diplo- 
mas, to their obedience and steadfast example we owed the per- 
fect order of the school in time of danger. Good-bye, dear girls 
of '85 ; you have attained that wisdom which shows one her 
ignorance; you have proved yourselves able to lead when called 
to leadership; in the words of the Rector, "You have never 
failed your Alma Mater." 

Le roi est moft ; viveleroi! As '85 was received among the 
Alumnae, '86 took its place in St. Mary's. Those who know, 
say it is not unworthy so to do. Its press of Commencement 
work left no time for writing those sundry locals which our 
friends are so kind as to be pleased to read. Hence, three Junior 
sisters have offered their pens. 

Of the success of Commencement-week what better proof 
could we have than the constant presence of our dear Bishop? 
His cheery face brightened every entertainment. We thank him 
for so kindly giving us of his valuable time. 

Full programmes are printed in this issue, and readers of the 
Raleigh papers will know how perfectly each was carried out. 

Our little Juniors have written you somewhat of The Chil- 
dren's Night, French Night, and Dramatic Night. But it seems 
to some that in fear of praising too much, they have not done jus- 
tice. The Children's Calisthenics surpassed all previous exhibi- 


tions. And the recitations in concert, while perfectly clear, 
lacked any of the strained sound usually heard. Of the music 
one can only say that it explained the remarkable skill of the 
Senior performers. The pupils are taught in the best manner 
from the beginning. 

French Night, tho' it was not English, drew a large audience, 
and Shakspere Night, saw not only parlor, which can hold five 
hundred people, but hall, porch, and windows packed. Of the 
latter we echo the words of one of the audience in saying, "It 
was simply a perfect dream, a vision of loveliness." The feel- 
ing, grace, and power characterizing this presentation of our 
great poet, was such as could be looked for only where elocution 
is a patient, constant study of the masters in literature. It was 
the continued work of the year that culminated in the lofty sim- 
plicity of Theseus, the power of Demetrius, the extravagance of 
Bottom, and the tenderness of Hippolyta. This is the first time 
that we have given an entire play from Shakspere. Extracts 
from many of his master-pieces have from time to time delighted 
our friends, but the pleasure of an entire play has been reserved 
for this year. Perhaps the rendering could receive no surer 
praise than the difficulty found in trying to say who did best. 
Perfect as a whole first but because perfect in its parts, it was 
truly a reflection of the myriad-minded dramatist. 

Commencement Sunday saw an unusually large number of 
graduates with us. Every class, since '78, '81 excepted, was 
represented. The Charleston twins and dear Mrs. Meares had 
come the week before. It was a happy reunion and we wished 
that Sunday many hours longer. 

At the evening service the Rector read the annual report of 
the Missionary Society. It showed liberal contributions to 
Foreign and Diocesan Missions, and to State and city charities. 

The Annual Concert, on AYednesday, the 10th, was full proof, 
if any were needed, of the ability of our Director. The Bridal 
Chorus from Lohengrin and Lassen's Gypsy Chorus showed the 
same masterly training which has made the Raleigh Philhar- 
monic Society what it is. Most of the musicians and elocution- 


ists were younger than those of last year. It may be truly said 
that they sustain St. Mary's reputation and promise brilliantly 
for the future. Perhaps the gem of the evening, in recitation, 
was "O Lassie ayont the Hill." 

Of Thursday morning even to friends we do not care to write. 
It was the parting-day, and the ties of the year were too strong to 
be easily broken. We were glad to remember that so many of us 
were to return in September. The Bishop was so kind as to 
praise the efforts of our essayists, especially Sophia Thurmond's 
"The Good New Times." We reserve this for our autumn 
number, though we fear our readers, to whom its author is 
already well known, may grumble at us. 

With Sophia's we reserve some of the examination composi- 
tions which, but for lack of room, would have had a place in 
this issue; notably those of Addie White, Bessie McLean and 
Helen McVea, in all of whom our kind readers are interested. 

Our Valedictorian did not weep until the last; and then, as 
we bore her company, we can scarce blame her. In the Chapel, 
Marchetti's "O Blest Redeemer" was sung before the Bishop's 
address. We thought it the most beautiful of all the music of 
the week. The watch-word of the Bishop's address to the grad- 
uates was, Duty. May each bear it onward through her life. 

The annual report of the Secretary of the Alumnae will appear 
in our autumn issue. The meeting brought together members 
from States as far South as Louisiana. 

The report of the Treasurer showed a fair sum in the treasury. 
The graduating class was received and heartily welcomed. 


The last news you received from St. Mary's told you of all 
our doings up to the holidays. Early Christmas morning the 
house was awakened by enchanting music. Sounds of delight- 
ful harmony (so the serenaders thought) issuing from horns and 
combs were wafted on the frosty morning air. Doors speedily 


unclosed, and a "Merry Christmas" was exchanged with the 
gifted performers, whom we were supposed not to recognize. 
The days glided by. Our dear Bishop sent us a glorious treat, 
boxes arrived from home, and every one felt jolly. But "tem- 
pus fugit" far faster in holiday than in school-time. Before we 
knew it Saturday clattered in on us with the returning girls. 
Inhospitable though it may seem, we were as sorry to welcome 
them as we had been to bid them farewell, since they brought 
the end of holidays. The first so hated day after vacation was 
over. Then came that horrible Monday night. Our Art 
Reporter has told of its events elsewhere, so no words are needed 
here. Now we have bright prospects in view. In the Art- 
Notes oui" great expectations are set forth. The "New Build- 
ing" is rising rapidly from the ashes of the old. This might 
have been accomplised long since, though perhaps in a little less 
substantial manner, for immediately after the destruction of our 
beloved house, the calamity having been published in the New 
York and other papers, Mr. Smedes w T as overwhelmed with mis- 
sives from architects, plumbers, glaziers, furnace-fitters, slaters, 
patent-holders of all kinds. Letters poured in from New York, 
Cincinnati, Columbus, Philadelphia, Pittsburg, etc., etc. One 
writes: " Dear Sir — In case you intend to rebuild, I am prepared 
to furnish you complete working drawings, including plans, ele- 
vations, specifications and details all complete, ready for mason 
and carpenter at about one-half regular office rates. I will come 
to Raleigh and make sketches and observations on the site, and 
consult with you about rebuilding, charging you only reasonable 
travelling expenses for this service." Another insists that he 
shall furnish an iron roof, a third a canvas roof, while a fourth 
volunteers the whole furniture. In a fortnight a most elegant 
house might have been put up. As that would have been all of 
paper, however, we are content to wait a little longer and have 
our brick building. 

The very day after the events of the' fire, all was as quiet and 
orderly as though nothing had happened. An Art-Room was 
provided, lessons went on in the usual routine, and in February, 


examinations were passed with honor to both scholars and teach- 
ers. We had during this time one treat, duly appreciated by 
school-girls, lovers of the marvelous. A real conjurer visited 
us and displayed his tricks. Nothing very magical they say, 
but we thought them very much so. 

Inauguration-day was greeted by us with joy, for we were 
to see the Governor-elect of the Old North State take the oath 
of office. For months our patriotic feelings had been fed by 
accounts of elections, speeches, and torch-light processions, and 
when the great day arrived our enthusiasm could scarcely 
be restrained. The waving of flags, which brightened the 
streets, and above all, the flag of North Carolina, which floated 
in Metropolitan Hall, were not calculated to check our feelings. 
Neither was the distant music of a band which announced the 
arrival of the Governor-elect and his escort. The inaugural 
address opened with a comparison between North Carolina 
to-day and North Carolina immediately after the war. It con- 
tained an account of the State University, and suggested that a 
larger sum of money be devoted to education. It is needless to 
add that the address was delivered with dignified eloquence. 

Early in February the Bishop parted with the younger 
of his two lovely daughters, Miss Roma, now Mrs. Niles. To 
reward us for not being able to attend the wedding, she sent us 
a charming collation. A few of the teachers attended the mar- 
riage service, and brought us word that the bride, once a St. 
Mary's girl, was even fairer than ever before. Our most earnest 
wishes followed her to her new home. 

Something that we all were delighted with was a chance 

to see and hear Sau-Ah-Brah, the celebrated Hindoo. He has 

been educated in this country and speaks English perfectly. In 

many respects his lecture was charming. Sau-Ah-Brah is rather 

a small man, with dark complexion and black hair. His eyes 

are sparkling black, his face truly intellectual, and he evidently 

enjoys life. He threw himself into his subject, acted various 

characters, and made himself generally at home on the stage. 


Our special reporter says: "He is a fair specimen of his race, 
is tall (it seems opinions differ there) dark, and well-built, and 
still dresses in the costume of his country. His every move- 
ment is full of ease and grace, but nevertheless it reminds one 

of the slippery motions of a reptile His costumes are 

of the finest Indian silk, and are arranged in such a manner that 
it seems as if it must be very difficult for him to walk, but he 
moves around as quickly as possible." Sau-Ah-Brah's voice in 
speaking was at first a little hard to understand, somewhat harsh, 
too, but one soon became accustomed to it. In singing it was 
sweet, except when he attempted a high note. His lecture 
was an interesting account of oriental life and manners, but it 
was sometimes out of taste, a little coarse. This was chiefly 
shown in his seeming desire to propitiate an American audience 
by ridiculing his native country, its customs, and especially its 
religion. His manner of doing this sounded to our ears in some 
respects irreverent. Otherwise one could not but enjoy his 
ready language and little witticisms. 

Among the pleasures of the winter was a lecture upon 
Benjamin Franklin by Carl Schurz. The matter was interest- 
ing, and the lecturer's eloquence added the last charm. 

February 17th we had the pleasure of a visit from the Leg- 
islature and our new Governor. A mixed entertainment had 
been prepared. Our Primaries and Preps distinguished them- 
selves, as they always do, in Calisthenics. There were a few 
pretty vocal and instrumental pieces, and the beauty -of the 
Senior Class (not that they are not all beautiful) recited most 
sweetly Tennyson's "May Queen." But the chief interest was 
the selection from "As You Like It." We were proud of our 
girls' acting, though but one Senior was among them. Audrey 
brought down the house with laughter, and Rosalind's drollery 
was perfection. The audience remarked that everything was 
just right, even to the length of time occupied. 

We enjoyed our entertaiment in blissful unconsciousness of 
the misery soon to overtake some of our number. In a few 


days several were attacked by that enemy to lessons, Measles. 
As one by one the stricken ones were borne off to the horrors 
(we speak feelingly) of darkness and flaxseed tea. the philosophi- 
cal side of onr nature came uppermost and we reflected: 

"What's the use of always fretting 
At the troubles we shall find 
Ever strewed along our pathway ? 
Travel on and never mind." 

We followed this sage advice and soon emerged into daylight. 

"We came back to the delights of lessons and compositions 
jnst in time to be prevented from having a turn at them by the 
Easter Holidays. Blessed be the man who invented holidays! 
With them life is worth all, without them nothing. 

First came Easter Day. The decoration of the Chapel was 
unique this year. It consisted chiefly of hyacinths arranged in 
straight rows. Here and there the pale pink and bluebells were 
divided by magnificent purple clusters. The perfume rose like 
incense and the music of the choral service filled the Chapel. 

On Monday was paid our annual visit to the Asylum, where 
we were cordially received by Dr. Grissom. We were impressed 
by the air of order and care which pervaded the place. The 
patients seemed as happy as was possible under the circumstances. 
Our visit made us all the more ready to yield to the admirable 
arguments by which Dr. Grissom in his "Special Report of the 
North Carolina Insane Asylum," defends himself against charges 
of extravagance, and proves that a larger appropriation should 
be made for this excellent institution. 

After coming; from the Asylum we still had our visit to the 
Penitentiary to make. We did this on Easter Tuesday. The 
fine brick buildings have been almost entirely built by the con- 
victs during the last few years. 

On our walk home we saw many preparations for the early 
spring, who came suddenly with her delicate foliage, sweet 
birds, and bright flowers. The atmosphere was becoming 
warm and soft as if it feared to chill so delicate a creature, and 
the earth was wearing a dainty green carpet for her little feet. 
Spring showed herself grateful for this and seemed loath to leave 


us. Until June had come, she continued to remind us of her 
presence by cooling winds. 

The return of Dr. Kiirsteiner to Raleigh and the revival 
of the Philharmonic were noticed in our last number, which 
also prophesied several good concerts during the winter. Our 
Muse was not mistaken. The "Lovers of Harmony" brought 
out the cantata "Ruth" for the first time on April 17th. The 
music was excellent and the prominent parts were well repre- 
sented. Ruth, whose voice is a rich contralto, delighted us by 
her graceful and natural acting, as well as by the accuracy, taste, 
aud feeling of he: 1 singing. Naomi was distinguished by her 
skilful and powerful execution. Orpah had a less prominent 
part, but filled it well. The deep bass voice of Boaz was suited 
to Xaomi's rich kinsman," the parts of the "Chief Reaper" and 
"The Messenger from Moab" were pleasing from the admirable 
way in which they were rendered. The choruses were rich and 
varied and evinced skilful training. The effect of the whole 
was charming. The large number attending the second per- 
formance, to which we had been kindly invited by the Director, 
proved the great success of the first. 

Memoriae Day fell on Monday, May 11th. As the News 
and Observer of May 12th says: " There never was a more per- 
fect day than yesterday, and never was Memorial Day observed 
more appropriately or more interestingly. The plan of holding 
the exercises at Metropolitan Hall proved an entire success. 
The suggestion was made some time ago, and it was feared by 
some that it would reduce the attendance at the cemetery. But 
this was not true, for while the number of people there was no 
less than heretofore, in fact greater than on some occasions, the 
hall was entirely filled, and the audience had the pleasure of 
hearing every word of a notably beautiful address. The hour 
fixed for the beginning of the exercises in the hall was 4:30, 
and by that time every seat was occupied, the ladies being promi- 
nent in an assemblage which well represented Raleigh." 

At about four, all who were able to take the walk — and we 
have not many disabled pupils here — set forth with our Princi- 


pal for the hall. Either we walked at a very slow pace, or, 
which was more probable, our school-room clock was sadly 
behind-hand, for when we reached the hall we found to our sor- 
row that the greater part of the speech was over. Excellent seats 
had been reserved for us in the front. We enjoyed the remain- 
der of the address more than anything we have heard for 
a long time. The speaker's delivery was good. The praises 
of General Anderson were not exaggerated panegyrics, but 
the expression of straight-forward, earnest admiration. He 
concluded with this final tribute: "If true manliness and an 
exalted sense of duty; if the strictest integrity and the most 
scrupulous regard for the rights of others; if a chivalric senti- 
ment towards woman, and a delicate sense of personal honor; 
if a commanding reserve and cheerful spirit; if dauntless cour- 
age and gentle manners; if a brilliant intellect and extensive 
knowledge; and finally, if patriotic service, ending in painful 
wounds, heroic suffering and death — if all these combined con- 
stitute a theme worthy of commemoration by orator or poet, then 
the duty assigned to me to-day might well have been intrusted 
to the most gifted of men, and the people of North Carolina 
would have a juster estimate of the life and services of George 
Burgwyn Anderson. 

Ascexsiox Day the entire school attended the choral service. 
This year the Bishop was with us. His address was short, but 
earnest and solemn. The chapel w r as beautifully dressed and 
the music was very sweet. 

We were honored on Wednesday, June 3d, by a visit 
from Miss Emery, Secretary to the "Woman's Auxiliary to the 
Board of Missions." She spoke to us earnestly and pleasantly, 
telling interesting anecdotes of missionary work, not only in our 
country, but in China and Africa, and giving us practical hints 
as to the best way of helping it on. Miss Emery was on her 
way home from the Convention at Asheville, and to our regret, 
she could not spare us more than one afternoon. However, 
each girl of us carries in her secret heart a hope that she may 
meet the lady again. 


By June 5th Commencement time had come ! Indeed, passed 
for some, leaving them free for the summer. Among these were 
our "Preps" and Primaries, who gave their entertainment on 
the 3d. Hours were spent by the older hands in getting the 
parlor ready for the little ladies and gentlemen. The flowers on 
the stage gleamed in the gas-light, contrasting brightly with the 
rich green of the dark oak leaves that wreathed every available 
ledge. When the sprites entered with their snowy dresses and 
light motions, the enraptured fathers and mothers, sisters and 
brothers could not contain their delight, but broke into enthusi- 
astic applause. The programme in calisthenics embraced rings, 
dumb-bells, free-hand, and clubs. The first three we had seen 
before, but the clubs were both novel and wonderful ! What 
was our amazement to see these heavy wooden things, which we 
could not easily lift at arms' length, whirled like the sails of so 
many wind-mills by the tiny magicians. How the older girls 
groaned to imagine themselves in the children's places! In the 
free-hand calisthenics Bessie Smedes, the pride and delight of the 
whole school, distinguished her little self. 

The choruses were sung with a correctness remarkable in such 
young children. The piano solos by Misses Lula Holden, Nellie 
Murray and Mary Hardin were distinguished by their firm, 
light touch, and accuracy. The quartettes ai}d duets were good, 
and the hearts of the small musicians were delighted by the 
tiny baskets of flowers. In the French play, a Le Repentir 
Efface Tout," the children became for the time petites frangaises. 
At ten o'clock we regretfully bade good-bye to our little friends 
until next September. 

Friday night, June 5th, we had our French Entertainment. 
In the evening a rain fell, which we feared would keep back our 
audience. On the contrary, there was a full attendance but no 
crush; almost every one had a seat. A quartette opened the 
evening. Then came the play "LeMalade Imaginaire." The 
prologue was read by Miss Julia Horner. The curtain rose 
on "Le Malade," Jennie Bingham, our healthiest-looking girl, 
reclining in Mr. Smedes' huge arm-chair. Eliza Skinner, as 


Toinette, Ayas nothing if not French. Beliue and Angelique 
both did well. The gentlemen wore black with dude collars. 
Thomas Diafoirus particularly delighted the audience, while the 
scene with Louison and her "papa" was received with a thun- 
der of applause. Every one declared that the only fault was the 
shortness of the play. An instrumental piece followed, and 
then a duet, "Les Compliments de Xormandie," sung by Leilah 
Higgins and Affie Warriner in peasant costume. The dress, 
the manner, all was inimitable. With this the programme 
ended. But the audience, well pleased with their seats, refused 
to move until they were asked to adjourn to the school-room, 
whore was displayed our Art exhibit. The entertainment was 
unanimously declared the greatest success in French that even 
St. Mary's has had for years, and we congratulate our charming 
Mile. Pernet on the brilliant culmination of the year's work, 
wishing her a fair voyage to La Belle France, and a safe return 
to us in September. 

On the ninth day of June we came to a certain place, 
where we fell asleep and had a dream. We dreamed that it was 
mid-summer night. Deep silence reigned, and a crimson mist 
hung over all like the red sun shining through fog. Suddenly 
we thought the mist rose, and we saw a vision. A throne 
appeared before us and on it sat Theseus and Hippolyta, sur- 
rounded by their court, clad in chiton and hi relation. Now the 
vision became darker. The anguish of Hermia and Helena 
wrung our hearts, and the anger of Egeus, and the fierce jeal- 
ousy of Demetrius and Lysander filled us with terror. As we 
shuddered, the scene slowly changed, as is the manner in dreams, 
and Quince and his party w'ere seeu preparing the play to 
be performed before the Duke. First came Pyramus and 
wooed sweet Thisbe in a sturdy voice; next in the person of 
Thisbe, he answered in a nightingale's voice. Then he became 
a lion and roared till the surrounding rocks and caves shook and 
echoed with the noise; and he roared ao-ain so sweetlv that the 
little birds in the trees mistook the sound for the call of their 


mates and gave answering chirps. The real Thisbe next stood 
forth and rehearsed her part bravely, determined to say it "good 
and loud/' cues and all. How Quince managed them ! Mean- 
time "the wall," "the man in the moon," and the real "lion" 
earnestly prepared their parts, seemingly unconscious .of the 
silent dreamers. Suddenly the rosy mist falls and hides the 
party. When it again rolled away a vision of fairies burst upon 
us. We were carried back to the days when elves often 
appeared to men and rewarded and punished them according to 
their works! We were in the midst of a wood. Tall trees 
laden with odorous blossoms waved their branches toward the 
sky, where smiled the gleaming stars. Stately lilies woke and 
nodded their white iieads, shaking out their perfume as an offer- 
ing to the Fairy Queen. Before our wondering eyes a fairy 
dance took place. Round and round the tiny beings whirled or 
glided, now apart and now together. Soon a graceful sprite 
stepped forward alone. As she skimmed over the grass like a 
a zephyr or shot through air like a moonbeam, we trembled lest 
the vision should fade. And Puck ! What words can describe 
this Robin Goodfellow? his lightness? his pretty tricks? He 
was simply Puck. Before our charmed eyes now passed rapidly 
the whole scene of Titania's quarrel with Oberon ; his revenge; 
Puck's mistakes, and the mistakes rectified. Happiness is 
secured to the mortals, and peace (in the union of Oberon and 
Titania) reigns among the fairies. A time of jollity and general 
festivity begins. Quince brings forward his company, the pro- 
logue is addressed with a sublime indifference to expression, and 
the play is performed. Now, alas, the glowing mist rolled down 
again to rise no more, and we awoke sighing that our dream 
was over, but having formed a strong resolution to be at the 
same place at the same hour of the same day of the same month 
of the next year, to try and dream it again or something else as 

Among the late improvements at St. Mary's is the new 
"ram" which supplies the house with water. It has been 
described in the article on water-works. 


Ho! all YE dear friexds, pity our Rector. Hardly had 
the arduous duties of the year ended, aud tlie longed-for sweet 
rest of vacation begun, when he received the following summons: 


,- Raleigh Township. 
Wake County. ) 

Mb. Bennett Smedes : — You are hereby summoned to work on the road lead- 
ing from R. S. Tucker's gate to House's Creek township line, and known as the 
Hillsboro road. You will meet at R. S. Tucker's gate on the 15th day of June, 
1885, at 7 o'clock a. >i., and bring the following tool: shovel. Should it require 
more than one day to complete the work, this notice will be deemed sufficient for 
each summons from day to day. 

This 8th day of June, 1885. J. C. L. HARRIS, Overseer. 

Lest you feel too grieved at the thought of the long hours under 
the hot sun, we add that a fit substitute has been found. Both 
man and shovel are ready. 

The large Binocular Microscope which received special 
commendation at the late State Exposition, has been added to 
St. Mary's Philosophical Apparatus. We wish you joy, classes 
in Natural Science for '86, and promise '85's Physiology Class 
a reward for their fearless dissection of brains, etc., in the form 
of various peeps through the wonderful glass. 


The Muse Art-Notes for the last two years give, in brief 
sketches, the history of our new building up to the year '85, 
as the school-books would say. It is first alluded to in the fol- 
lowing brief notice in '83: "A new Art-building is to be put 
up during the summer." In the spring of '84 we find it still 
incomplete: "How disappointed we were when we found that 
the new building would not be finished in time for the present 
Art exhibition," is the Muse comment at that time. In the fall 
of the same year we are actually at work inside its walls, and 
now '85 brings us to the end of the chapter: 


"At 12:30 o'clock Monday night the beautiful new Art Gallery at St. Mary's 
was found to be on fire. The building was of wood, 66x46 feet, two stories high, 
resting on a brick foundation. In the basement was the heater, from which the 
flues ran in all directions. It appeared to be not a minute after the discovery of 
the Are ere the entire interior of the building was a mass of flame. The alarm 
was given by telephone from Maj. R. S. Tucker's. The Rescue and double 
tank chemical engine responded to the alarm. The building was connected with 
the other buildings by a covered-way, the roof of which was tin. Along this the 
fire swept and endangered the other buildings. The chemical engine did some 
work in checking it until after the roof and timbers of the burning building fell 
in. The east "Rock-house" stands within sixty feet of the burned building. 
Luckily this is entirely of stone, with a brick cornice and tin roof, and though so 
greati}' endangered did not catch and was not injured. The covered-way was 
not destroyed, the Rescue getting on her steam and extinguishing the flames. 
The loss of the gallery was entire. The structure contained several recitation- 
rooms, the Kindergarten department, and the art gallery. The art gallery con- 
tained all the models, casts, and art-work of the pupils. The entire building 
was furnished in good style. The loss is about $12,500. The good discipline, 
which is a feature of this admirable school, was shown during the fire. There 
was no excitement among the pupils, nor were any in any danger. The water 
supply came from the large reservoir on the premises. It should be mentioned 
that the fine collection of paintings which has so long adorned the large recep- 
tion-room in the main building was not in the new one, and is of course intact." 

The foregoing article has been borrowed from the Raleigh 
News and Observer, being an apt and brief description of our art 
building, the fire and its effects. To the majority of our readers 
the story is already an old one, and we must not dwell long upon 
it. It was a damp, rainy night, and the wind favored us, else 
even the well-directed and earnest efforts of the brave firemen 
could scarcely have saved the other buildings, much less the East 
" Rock-house." The next day was the feast of the Epiphany, 
and to the praises of the great Festival we added thanksgivings 
for the protection vouchsafed us from the dangers of the past 
night. The little folks went back into their old quarters; Mr. 
Burwell kindly lent some desks ; and not one day's work was 
lost in the Preparatory Department. It has almost grown into 
a proverb that work at St. Mary's never stands still. We 
firmly believe that were there only one teacher and one scholar 
in school, that one teacher and that one scholar would go steadily 
through dormitory, study, and recreation hours, and write com- 
positionsatall sparetimes. Last spring, when we were disappointed 
about getting into the art-room, we put all our wits together — 

ST. MARY'S 3IUSE. 191 

a good many cooks, but we didn't spoil the broth that time — 
and made the best of things. The result, if we may quote our 
little paper once again, was to make our room "a 'most e'en as 
good as new." We never had a more charming reception. This 
year we had not even our old art-room to fall back upon, for it 
had been cut up into six small rooms. However, " nothing is so 
bad but it might be worse." Fortunately we had an extra 
dormitory, and on the very day after the fire a crowd of sober 
girls, headed by their teacher, her usually bright face somewhat 
long, resolutely turned their backs on the mournful pile of ashes 
and set about the unpromising task of making this dormitory 
take the place of our art-room. It was very hard, the empty 
room way up in the third story, after our taste of luxury. The 
old bureau, with its rickety, squeaking drawers, was a poor sub- 
stitute for our beautiful chest; easels would not go round, noi\ 
were bare walls, piles of mattresses, beds, and chairs highly 
inspiring models. However, people can manage. The casts 
were immediately replaced. Necessity called into play many 
"artistic treasures" from St. Mary's, quite as interesting to us 
as those of the United States at large. 

The first session's work was mostly in first principles, always 
tiresome, and the cubes, blocks, casts of fruits, and semi-faces 
found their object in their performance. But Goethe's clear-cut 
features had stood forth with wonderful distinctness on paper. 
And if Don Quixote in beaten brass had a heart still susceptible 
to beauty's charms, he must have been sore perplexed as to 
which was most worthy his noble affections, the cast of Venus 
de Medici, that had from the first smiled upon him, or the face 
so like it that had daily developed on an easel near at hand. 
Many pretty knick-knacks had borne St. Mary's Christmas 
greetings far and near. These and Miss Julia Creech's screen, 
with its trellis of jasmine and magnolia branch, were spared 
the fury of the flames. We congratulate that young lady upon 
the opportune removal of her half-year's work to her own home. 
Adelene Wicks had, as usual, done the large amount that makes 
her less fortunate co-laborers wonder. A most wildering moon- 


light scene out in mid-ocean, and in striking contrast, a well- 
built ship just leaving harbor, with all the attendant life and 
bustle of such a time, and some difficult studies of chrysan- 
themums were her contribution to the fire. Mary Osborne had 
also accomplished a great deal. Her last picture was a small 
boy steadying himself against a stone-wall, while snow-balls 
flew in all directions. "I bide my time" was the expression 
plainly written in his sturdy, rosy face and manly, self-assured 

The faithful work done in crayon before Christmas has 
brought forth good fruit in our last term's work. Especially do 
Bessie McLean, Maud Mathewson, Maud Marshall, Inder 
Tucker and Mary Hi n ton seem to have profited thereby. Miss 
Young's little boy in straight, dark bangs and polo cap is pro- 
nounced "just the cutest thing." The parlor pictures have been 
in great demand. Mamie Amyette's copy of one of them, a 
water scene, with just enough bank to hint at plenty of nice pic- 
nic ground beyond, is delightfully suggestive in its lights and 
shades of mid-summer day's dreams. Perhaps pleasant memo- 
ries of the Neuse and the Trent have given to the picture the 
individuality and seeming history which it possesses. Mamie 
has the gift of putting life into her pictures. A very pretty 
thing is her little cherub, though one of those tiresome casts, for 
into the face has crept a real baby-look that makes you long to 
pinch and kiss it. Perhaps the picture stole it from the twins. 
Our china exhibit is very small, the only workers in that depart- 
ment having been Adelene Wicks, Mrs. Kursteiner, and Maud 
Mathewson. Vanity seems on the wane, for while last year 
every girl must needs have a mirror, this year only one young 
lady, Miss Wicks, has yielded to the temptation. Catching 
sight of her face in the glass the other day, peeping up beneath 
the sprays of wisteria that grew under her touch, the thought 
struck us that some very pretty picture might sometimes be seen 
from outside our "Rock-house" windows. Nan Roberts will 
also carry home with her a bit of our wisteria bower. She has 
painted it on one side of a screen, the other panel bearing a bunch 


of magnolia leaves and a half-blown blossom. With this 
memento we dare hope that the dreamer's thoughts may some- 
times, of a winter's evening, stray away even from home and 
wander back to old St. Marv's. Nan gives us a verv prettv 
water scene. Not quite in the centre of a large tranquil lake, is set 
a tiny gem of an island; the foliage on each bank of the lake is 
beautiful; a castle, stiff and modern, with many turrets, cupolas, 
and towers blandly smiles upon the whole. But an inviting 
little wood-path, setting out in its winding course from a delight- 
fully rustic stile, prevents this imposing structure from quite 
spoiling the simplicity of the scene. Jasmine has not been 
much the rage this year, in fact only twice does it appear in our 
exhibition, once on a little round ebony table of Mamie 
Amyette's. The pale-yellow blossoms, with their delicate shad- 
ing thrown into strong relief by the black background, look 
as if nature's own hand had laid them there, while tambourines, 
plaques of brass, and porceline, panels, and canvas have been 
decorated with the present favorites — pausies, wild-roses and 
daisies. We have landscapes from every clime and at all sea- 
sons, from Alpine snow-storms to Venetian shore scenes. At 
one time we were very downcast about our success in faces, but 
since then Julia Hawks has painted a lovely child, standing in lis- 
tening attitude before a half-open door. So natural is it that 
we can almost "hear" a face and " see" a voice outside the door. 
And Nan has "unwalled" the eyes and chopped off the wings 
from a flat-copy supposed to represent a celestial face, transform- 
ing it into one as bewitching as that of Mr. Boffin's "lovely 
woman." Our best we have reserved for the last, Miss Jones' 
picture of still-life. It is wonderful how she finds time to spare 
from those children of hers, the "sweetest children in the world," 
she says ; but find it she does, and her peacock-feathers and 
sea-shells are beautiful. The play of colors on the shells is fine, 
and the temptation to try and pick them up is very strong. In 
this picture, as well as in one of Nan's, a large conch and a 
bunch of pansies, it almost seems as if the murmur of their 
ocean home must still be in them. Nan has another piece in 

194 ST. MARY'S MUSuJ. 

which au odd little figured vase, several other unique trifles, aud 
a gay-colored fau come in very nicely in making up a Japanese 

On the whole we do not think our exhibition discreditable; 
but we beg that the public will remember the disadvantages 
under which we have labored, as we repeat our former teacher's 
prayer, " Don't view us with a critic's eye, but pass our imper- 
fections by." 

Just as we were putting the finishing touches to our last 
pictures aud were daily expecting the frames, an urgent message 
called our teacher from us, and we were left to prepare our 
exhibit by ourselves. What a time we did have getting the 
frames fitted to the pictures; how our fingers ached when we 
had finished cutting the stiff pasteboard, tough as whit-leather, 
and doing all the necessary hammering! And how people did 
fuss because we ruined their scissors ! In two days time this 
cutting and hammering was accomplished. The hanging, 
happily, was not for us. Those not busy with the Shakspere 
play assisted here, and the school- room was completely meta- 
morphosed into as charming a gallery as a school-room could 
make. Lina Battle's work hung over the lower mantel, around 
the clock. At the other end of the room were Miss Jones' 
pictures, Nan's screen, two portraits, and Maud Mathewson's 
bewithing crayon. Adelene's mirror was opposite the lower 
door, near it her other work, farther up, Mamie Amyette's, and 
still farther, Julia Hawks'. 

The crayon drawings were arranged along the blackboard and 
were perhaps the only things that showed for what they were 
worth. " Such a contrast to last year," some one said when all 
was done; the very clock says "Law!" But all comparisons 
are not odious ; let us look forward and not back. Already the 
foundation of our new Art-building is laid. Before next June 
we shall be established even better than before. The scorched 
trees have put forth new branches. Among the many to return 
in September are our best artists, and all the outlook seems 




The following young ladies have maintained an average stand- 
ing of more than 95 per cent, during the past school year: 


Anna Hartwell Lewis 98.6 

Elizabeth W. McLean 97.9 

Carrie L. Mathewson 97.7 

Henrietta R. Smedes 97.6 

Sophia D . Thurmond 97. 5 

Frances M. Hardin 97.4 

Nina Horner 97.4 

Adelaide E. White 96.8 

Laura Davis 96.8 

Leilah T. Higgins 96.7 

Caroline B. Battle 96.6 


Julia E. Horner 96.3 

Jane W. Bingham 96.3 

Ada C. Humphrey (Myr.) 96.3 

Helen F. McVea 96.3 

Mary F. Walker 96.2 

Mary H. Hinton 96.1 

Laura C. Barnes 95.9 

S. Adelene Wicks 95.9 

Affie Warriner 95.7 

M. Lula Battle 95.3 

Elizabeth R. Hamilton 95.2 

Maud M. Marshall 95.1 


Margaret Hinsdale 98.0 

Dixie Murray 97.9 

Janet Badger 97.5 

Jennie Saunders 97.4 

Nellie Murray 97.2 

Etta McVea 97.0 

Lula Holden 96.7 

Janie Andrews 96.2 

Mattie Higgs; 96.0 

Maud Harris 96.0 

Mildred Badger 95.5 

Lillie Hicks 95.5 

Bessie Whitaker 95.3 

Laura Carter 95.4 

Martha Haywood 95.4 

Mary Snow 95.4 

Eliza Marshall 95.0 


Annie T. Wetmore 95.3 

The following young ladies though, from various causes, they 
have not attained the first grade, are to be highly commended for 
their diligence and marked improvement: 

Martha E. Ihrie, 
Eliza M. Skinner, 
Elizabeth Piatt, 

Annie Busbee, 
Kate Badger, 


Kate W. Poe, 
Truletta Stunkel, 
Ada H. Rogers, 
Addie B. Riddick. 


Mary Hardin. 


n | Daisy Thompson, 

Master Lo°;an Harris. 

196 ST. MARY'S M 'USE. 

The following are entitled to Distinctions in the ornamental 
branches of education over and above their rank in the regular 
course of study. 

In Instrumental Music : 

Jennie W. Bingham, 
Annie L. Blackmer, 
Elizabeth W. McLean, 
Helen F. McVea, 
Annie R. Roberts, 
Henrietta R. Smedes, 
Adelaide E. White. 

In Vocal Music : 

w f Carrie L. Mathewson, 

* w8t >—\ Adelaide E. White. 

Laura C. Barnes, 
Elizabeth R. Hamilton, 
Leilah T. Higgins, 
i Affie Warriner. 

In Drawing and Painting: 

Annie R. Roberts, 
4 Mary S. Amyette, 

S. Adelene Wicks, 

Maud M. Marshall, 

Eliza W. McLean, 

Maude M. Mathewson, 
In Elocution : 

Julia E. Horner, 
First, — ■{ Carrie L. Mathewson, 
S. Adelene Wicks. 

f Laura C. Barnes, 
Second, — <j Jennie W. Bingham, 
I Laura Davis. 




In Composition 
Senior Div., — < 

Junior Div., — 

f Anna H. Lewis, 

I Sophia D. Thurmond. 

f Nina Horner, 

I Eliza M. Skinner. 

The following young ladies are to be highly commended for 
diligence and improvement: 

In Music: 

M. Havens Cherry, 
Ada C. Humphrey, 
Leilah T. Higgins, 
Nina J. Maxwell, 
Maud M. Marshall, 
Affie Warriner, 
Ada H. Rogers, 
Addie B. Riddiek, 
Mary F. Hastings, 

In Composition: 

Jennie W. Bingham. 
Adelaide E. White, 
Laura Davis, 
Henrietta R. Smedes, 
M. Havens Cherry, 

In Elocution: 

Leilah T. Higgins, 
Fanny M. Hardin, 
Eliza M. Skinner, 
Nina Horner, 
Addie B. Riddiek. 
Flora E. Creech, 
Inder T. Tucker, 

Lula T. Holden, 
Nellie M. Murray, 
Etta S. McVea, 
Fannie S. Carter, 
Laura Carter, 
Mar} - Hardin, 
Mattie Higgs, 
Janie Andrews, 
Carrie Coke. 

Elizabeth W. McLean. 
Leilah T. Higgins. 
Adelene S. Wicks, 
Julia Hawks, 
Helen F. McVea, 

Margaret F. Busbee. 

Jennie Saunders, 
Margaret D. Hinsdale, 
Lula T. Holden, 
Annie T. Busbee, 
Janet Badger, 
Josephine Smith. 
Etta S. McVea. 







Wednesday Evening, June 3d, 1885. 


1. Chorus — Fly forth, my Song, 

Preparatory and Primary Classes. 

2. Piano Duet — Lucia di Lammermoor, 

Eliza Marshall and Bessie Tucker. 

3. Calisthenics — Free-hand. 

Primary Classes. 

4. Piano Solo — Eole Mazurka, 

Mary Hardin. 

5. Recitation — Work, .... 

Preparatory Class C. 

6. Quartette — A Toute Vapeur, 

Nellie Murray and Mary Snow. 
Etta McVea and Laura Carter. 

7. Calisthenics — Dumb-bells. 

Preparatory Classes B and C 

8. Piano Solo — Danse des Naiades. 

Nellie Murray. 


1. Calisthenics — Rings. 

Preparatory Class A. 

2. Quartette — Fledermaus, 

Mary Hardin and Fanny Carter. 
Eliza Marshall and Maud Harris. 

3. Recitation — The Kitten and the Leaves, 

Preparatory Classes A and B. 

4. Piano Solo — Valse, L' Even tail, 

Bessie Smedes. 

5. Drame — Le Repentir Efface Tout, 

Preparatory French Classes. 

6. Piano Solo — Un Ballo in Maschera, 

Lula Holden. 

7. Calisthenics — Indian Clubs. 

Preparatory Class A. 

8. Piano Duet — Berceuse, - 

Mattie Higgs and Janie Andrews. 

9. Chorus — Twilight, .... 

Preparatory and Primary Classes. 

arr. by Streabbog 





arr. by Strauss 



Mine,. Narbel 

arr. by Dorn 





Friday Evening, June 5th, 1885. 


Quartette — Polka Rondo, 

Miles. Gregory et Warriner. 
Miles. H. Smedes et Marshall. 

Duo Vocal— L'Ete\ 



Miles. Barnes et Higgins. 



Argan, Malade Imaginaire, 
Beline, second femme d'Argan, 
Angelique, fille d'Argan, 
Lotjison, fille d'Argan, 
Beralde, frere d'Argan, 
Cleante, amant d' Angelique, 
M. Diafoirtjs, medecin, - 
Thomas, son fils, 
M. de Bonnefoi, notaire, 
Toinette, servante, 

Piano Solo — Les Cloches de mon Pays, 

Mile. Nena J. Maxwell. 

Duo Vocal — Les Compliments de Xormandie, 

Mlle. J. W. Bingham. 

" F. M. Hardin. 

" A. E. White. 

" M. H. Haywood. 

" H. E. Smedes. 

" A. L. Blackmer. 

" M. M. Marshall. 

" M. L. Battle. 

" A. F. Gales. 

" E. M. Skinner. 


Miles. Higgins et Warriner. 





Monday Evening, June 8th, 1885. 

Theseus, Duke of Athens, 

Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons, 

Egeus, a Lord, 

Hermia, his Daughter, 

Helena, her Friend, 



Philostrate, Master of Revels, 

Quince, the Carpenter, 

Bottom, the Weaver, 

Snug, the Joiner, - 

Flute, the Bellows-mender, 

Snout, the Tinker, 

Starveling, the Tailor, 

Miss L. Davis. 

" C. L. Mathewson. 

■ " A. F. Gales. 
" L. C. Barnes. 

- " A. E. White. 

" S. A. Wicks. 

■ " J. E. Horner. 

" A. L. Blackmer. 

■ " F. M. Hardin. 

" J. W. Bingham. 

■ " E. M. Skinner. 
" N. Horner. 

■ " M. M. Mathewson. 
" M. A. Battle. 


First Fairy, 

Troop of Forty Fairies. 

Flora Creech. 
Jennie Saunders. 
Margaret Hinsdale. 
Mary Snow. 



Wednesday Evening, June 10th, 1885. 


Overture to La Dame Blanche, Boieldieu 

Misses Blackmer and White. 
Misses McLean and Brown. 

Piano Solo — Caprice de Concert, Gottschalk 

Miss Mary P. Adams. 

Vocal Solo — The Lark, Taubert 

Miss Leilah T. Higgins. 

Recitation — The Hero of the Tower, Carlelon 

Miss Affie Warriner. 

Piano Solo — Rigaudon, Raff 

Miss Elizabeth W. McLean. 

Vocal Solo — To a River, Mariani 

Miss Adelaide E. White. 

Pianp Solo — Fantaisie, op 13, Mozart 

Miss Helen F. McVea. 


a. Drifting, Read 

b. O Lassie ayont the Hill, McDonald 

Miss Carrie L. Mathewson. 

Vocal Deo — The Nightingale's Nest, Bordese 

Miss Waddell and Miss Warriner. 

Piano Solo — Sonata, op. 26, v. Beethoven 

Miss Henrietta R. Smedes. 

Semi-Chorus — The Spanish Gipsy-girl, Lassen 

Misses Mathewson, Hamilton and Higgins, 1st Soprano. 
Misses Barnes, M. Mathewson and Wicks, 2d Soprano. 
Misses Amyette, Roberts and Warriner, 1st Contralto. 
Misses Aiken, Bingham and Horner, 2d Contralto. 





Overture to Otello, Rossini 

Misses Bingham and Higgins. 
Misses Amyette and Roberts. 

Recitation — The Forging of the Anchor, Ferguson 

Miss Julia E. Horner. 

Vocal Solo — L'Usignuolo Messicano, Giorza 

Miss Elizabeth R. Hamilton. 

Piano Solo — Gaiete", Rondo Brillant, ..... Moscheles 

Miss Jennie W. Bingham. 

Vocal Solo — The Fog-bell, . Pontet 

Miss Eleanor W. Waddell. 

Recitation — Sergeant Buzzfuzz to the Jury, .... Dickens 

Miss Laura C. Barnes. 

Piano Solo — Quellenrauschen, Spindler 

Miss Adelaide E. White. 

Vocal Solo — Cavatine from Der Freischiitz, ...■.«.'* Weber 

Miss Carrie L. Mathewson. 

Piano Solo — Rigoletto, . Liszt 

Miss Annie L. Blackmer. 

Recitation — King Robert of Sicily, Longfellow 

Miss S. Adelene Wicks. 

Piano Duet — Trot de Cavalerie, Rubinstein 

Miss Amyette and Miss Roberts. 

Semi-Chorus — Bridal-song from Lohengrin, .... Wagner 
Misses Mathewson, Hamilton, Higgins, White, 1st Soprano. 
Misses Barnes, Horner, M. Mathewson, Wicks, 2d Soprano. 
Misses Aiken, Amyette, Bingham, Roberts, Contralto. 



Thursday Morning, June 11th, 1885. 


Chorus — Morning Serenade, 

Latin Salutatory, and Essay — The Good Old Times. 

Miss Sophia D. Thurmond. 

Vocal Solo — For You, Dearest Heart, 
Miss Adelaide E. White. 

Essay — Mrs. Oliphant. 

Miss Carrie L. Mathewson. 

Chorus — In Spring, ... 

Essay — Little Latin and Less Greek. 

Miss E. Julia Horner. 

Vocal Solo — Where Have the Swallows Fled ? 
Miss Carrie L. Mathewson. 

Essay— Sculpture — and Valedictory. 

Miss Anna H. Lewis. 









Anthem — O Blest Kedeemer, .... Marchetti 




Hymn 497, ------- Dudley Buck 







H® 35 A -Corps of Fourteen Efficient Instructors. Thorough 
teaching guaranteed. French taught by a native ; German by 
an American educated in Germany. Latin a recjui' Ae. for a j 
full Diploma, Great attention is paid to Mathematics and 



Separate buildings ; five teachers — one from the Stuttgart, 
one from the Liepsic Conservatory ; a fine Vocalist ; sixteen 
Pianos for daily practice — two new Concert Grands for con^' 
cert use; a Cabinet Organ ; a fine Pipe Organ, with two 
manuals and twenty stops, and the only Pedal Piano south 
of New York. 


Under the charge of able and enthusiastic artists. The Course 
comprises Drawing in Pencil, Crayon, and Charcoal; Painting 
in Oil, Water Colors and Pastel, and Decorating China in 

jfgl^The Physical Development of the pupils thoroughly 
cared for. ' 

The Advent Term Begins September ,1.0th," 1885. 

For Circulars containing full particulars, apply to the Rector. 

^y^rTirwrKF^rsrarKFarTMsaraffsr - !^^ 






Our Inconsequentialities — Eleanor Vass 1 

Home-Makers— Nannie B. Skinner 6 

Some American Humorists— Lucy M. Cobb 10 

The Ayshire Ploughman— Harriet E. Bowen 14 

Literary Fads — Margaret M. Jones 18 

Dunces and Dull People — M. Susan Marshall 23 

A Winter of Real Romance — Miriam P. Lanier 29 

Correspondence — Albert A. Mack 34 

Editorial --,--- 42 

Personals 47 

Art Notes— M. Susan Marshall 54 

St. Mary's Alumnus Association — Kate McKitnmon 57 


Raleigh, N. C. 

Entered at the Post-office in Raleign at second-class Bates 

^ryTt^'«t^al.9SaSMi^nLaft-^'fi w H^'^ J «i^HVi | ^ 'H 

W. H. & R. S. TUCKER & CO., 




W. H. & R. S. TUCKER & CO. 

Cn D V r A D O we ^ ave en J°y e d the patronage of St. Mary's School. 
ill II I LHlIU We appreciate the privilege of contributing the cost 
of this space, and wish the excellent School a great deal of prosperity. 
We respectfully ask the patronage of friends of the School, and promise 
intelligent and pains-taking service at all times. 

You can always find a full line of TOILET ARTICLES, of PATENT 
and PROPRIETARY REMEDIES, and everything usually kept by 
druggists. No matter how far you are from the School send us your 
orders, send us your prescriptions, send to us for Tooth-brushes, Hair- 
brushes, Combs, Sponges, Dental Floss, Atomizers — for anything. 


James McKimmon & Co., Druggists, 
133 Fayetteville Street, Raleigh, N. C. 


Art Materials, Picture Frames, 








Mother Goose, as well as Proverbs, may be truly called 
the condensed wisdom of the ancients. Gratitude is not 
extinct in human hearts; we have the liveliest feeling 
towards any one who has expressed for us certain naughty 
impulses for which we cannot account. Very grateful are 
we, therefore, to Mother Goose, for the creation of that 
person of poetic renown who exclaimed: 

" I do not like thee, Dr. Fell, 
The reason why, I cannot tell; 
But this I know, I know full well, 
I do not like thee, Dr. Fell!" 

In our own selves this Dr. Fell principle is continually 
at work, and we are ever forming likes and dislikes unac- 

We love our heroes and heroines in fiction, not for their 
virtues, but for their inconsistencies. Simple Simon is 
most dear to our hearts because he once in the remote past 
was delightfully absurd enough to go a-fishing in his 
mother's pail; and because when 

" He went to shoot a wild duck, 
And the wild duck flew away, 
He said, ' I couldn't hit it,' 
Just because it wouldn't stay!" 

We like the Three Wise Men of Gotham, because they 
went to sea in a bowl. Anybody can go to sea in a ship; 


any one can catch a whale in the Polar oceans; but only 
the three Wise Gothamites would go to sea in a bowl: it 
required Simple Simon to seek a whale in a water-bucket. 

But we have no need to look to fiction and history for 
the inconsequentiality of human nature. We find it all 
about us. In truth, the bump of contrariety is the first 
development on the infant's head, and all other bumps 
received seem only to increase its growth. Did you ever 
know a baby whose round eyes would not persistently stare 
at the ceiling for hours when its "natural protector" was 
especially anxious to attend a reception that night? Or 
what a deafening roar does the small cherub produce as 
the parent fondly observes, "He is the best baby! Such a 
little angel !" No wonder that such beginnings result in 
making man at full age an intricate bundle of irregulari- 
ties and incomprehensibilities. 

A long time ago, Chilo thundered out, " Know thyself !" 
But who has accomplished that feat? We urselves are the 
hardest people in the world to know. We may bring about 
an introduction and may then fondly imagine that we can 
always tell what we will like and what we will do, until 
some fine morning we find with amazement that what we 
really ought to like or do, that thing, above all else, we 
abhor, and will not do. 

Who would ever have fancied, for instance, that Jack 
Sprat, thin, wrinkled, crabbed — for must not that inveterate 
eater of lean meat have possessed all these unpleasant quali- 
ties — and Mrs. Sprat, fair, jolly and stout, would have 
proved mutually attractive? It was the simple perversity 
of human nature that they liked each other. True, their 
union resulted in a happy and economic one, for as 

"Jack Sprat could eat no fat and 
His wife could eat no lean, 
So it was between them both, 
They left the platter clean!" 


After all, a person's inconsequentiality is his most attract- 
ive quality. Certain it is that an individual utterly devoid 
of it, in real life as in fiction, is without fascination. Is 
there anything more tiresome than the "perfect being," 
the creature who always says and does the "correct thing?" 
Why is it that no warm, living affection stirs our heart at 
the mention of George Washington? If he were not such 
a carved piece of virtue, if he had not been so entirely 
admirable in the cherry-tree episode, would he not be more 
loved? Dr. Holmes, who, as Mr. Warner tells us, always 
has the capacity for saying the things we should like to have 
said ourselves, puts this for us aptly: "As the Model of All 
the Virtues is about to leave us, I find myself wondering 
why we are not all very sorry. Surely we all like good 
persons. She is a good person. Therefore we like her — 
only we don't!" 

What a sigh of relief we heave when Washington and the 
Model of All the Virtues depart and leave us in peace and 
inconsequentiality ! 

W T e heartily sympathize with the Grecians in their desire 
to ostracize Aristides because they were tired of hearing 
him called "The Just." Those methodical, routine people, 
who do everything at a fixed time, who sneeze every morn- 
ing at precisely six and sit down at precisely seven and get 
up at precisely eight and look out of the window at pre- 
cisely nine, fret us beyond measure. Perfect regularity 
does not appeal to degenerate man. But though a certain 
amount of inconsequentiality is charming, yet we never 
fall in love with a person wholly inconsequent. A human 
Mrs. Nicholby is no more admired than the Mrs. Nicholbv 
of fiction. One tires after a while of hearing stories of the 
death of two starved horses which happened to draw the 
carriage in which a lady rode who brought Mrs. Nicholby 
a spring bonnet, told as strikingly illustrative of the opu- 


lence of milliners. After all, the charm of inconsequenti- 
al^ lies not in words but in deeds, and it must be innate, 
not artificial. It is the happy medium between the two 
extremes which is so attractive. Our likes and dislikes are 
but one instance in which we display the inconsequentiality 
of human nature. Why is it that we become silent when we 
wish most to talk? We can sympathetically appreciate the 
story which is told of a well-known wit, who was invited 
to dinner by a fashionable lady just because he was witty. 
During the course of the evening, in a pause of conversa- 
tion, she sent her little daughter to him with the request, 
"Mamma says will you please proceed to be witty now?" 

Even scientific experiments fail because of man's per- 
verseness. Our grandmothers and grandfathers did not 
trouble themselves about brown bread and oat flakes. They 
delighted in mince pie and plum-pudding. They were 
wofully ignorant of the whereabouts of their hearts and 
lungs ; they did not analyze their food hunting for adul- 
terations ; they did not hesitate to breathe for fear of 
microbes ; and yet these dear old people were hale and 
hearty at seventy and seventy-five. We know all about 
animalculse and cholera germs and diphtheria bacteria 
and the organs of our bodies, and every one has an affected 
lung or a palpitating heart ! So perverse, so inconsequential 
is man ! 

Another oddity of human nature is the way in which all 
of us insist upon imagining things in a light which reason 
and experience prove false. How we delight to think of 
going into the country ! What dreams arise of fruit drop- 
ping into our mouths from the trees, of shady nooks and 
murmuring streams ! In reality, if the chosen farm-house 
be shaded by trees, it is damp and full of fever and ague. 
It probably stands on a treeless expanse, however. You 
find that strawberries have been sent to market and 


peaches haven't come. You discover that the " beautiful 
woods " are full of tramps and are not to be rambled in 
without the protection of something in a hat and coat ; that 
the " river-side" is guarded by mud and mosquitoes ; that 
the pretty places are surrounded by notices that you will 
be "shot," or "dealt with by law," or "caught in the 
spring-traps," if you " trespass thereon "; that nine o'clock 
is locking-up hour and that you can't take a walk in the 
morning on account of the dew and ague ! And yet people 
fondly speak of a lazy, delightful summer in the country ! 
It is much on a par with the poetical beauties of the 
" dappled morn, the dewy grass and the warbling birds " 
with which disappointed sages endeavor to lure people from 
their pillows at early dawn. These sages, however, pre- 
serve always a studied silence as to the fog, the raw air and 
the general undone feeling of the earth at that weird time. 

What then is the conclusion of the whole matter? Whence 
are our inconsequentialities; wherein their charm? Un- 
fortunately for our curiosity, all the wisdom and the learn- 
ing of the day have not as yet solved the problem. What 
advance can argument make when the very fact that we 
think our irregularities attractive is itself the inconse- 
quentiality of inconsequentialities? The whole world can 
offer none other than the conclusive woman's reason, " We 
think them so because we think them so !" 

Certainly these inconsistencies are indigenous and pecu- 
liar to human nature. No other animal is the hero of such 
irregular actions. Truly, it is the inconsequent creature, 
man, for that's his specialty. What creature else conceives 
the circle and then walks the square?" 



Love of home is instinctive in every human heart, and 
where civilization is at its lowest ebb among mankind we 
find this same innate craving for home. Every nation 
satisfies this craving in its own way, and although to us 
the manifestation is often amusing and even pathetic in its 
crudeness, the impulse is noble. Even the Indian made 
some attempt at home-making, and enjoyed sitting in 
his wigwam, smoking and discussing the day's hunt; and 
on winter nights the big brave, with his squaw and little 
braves, gathered around the fire in the middle of the 
wigwam and listened to the thrilling tales of adventure as 
eagerly as his nineteenth century successor does to his 
family story-teller by the side of the good old-fashioned fire. 

Is there anything more conducive to cheerfulness than 
the open fire with its ruddy light and dancing flames? 
Charles Dudley Warner says that it is impossible to bring 
up a family around a flue, and that in the banishment of 
the open fire the home-life is in a measure destroyed. The 
family, as an institution, he says, is gone, and though the 
people still gather around a register or an invented fire- 
place, the center is lost. No one will think of asserting 
that the deliriously lazy sensation produced by the blazing- 
logs of an open fire is in any way associated with the feeling 
one has when sitting before an artificial fire-place, in which 
gas burns around painted logs. Then in this substitute 
the irresistible impulse " to poke the fire " is rudely 
thwarted, which innocent enjoyment is often the escape- 
valve for much ill-humor. Of course Mr. Warner is 
sweeping in his assertion, but the manner in which the 
assertion is made is so charming that we forgive its 


In former days the prevailing idea of home-making was 
proficiency in cooking. Women were supposed to devote 
their time to little else than the concoction of palatable 
dishes, but during the past century home-making, together 
with various other occupations, has made rapid strides. 
Women have reduced it to a science, and have given us a 
dignified name, " Household Economics," for what had 
hitherto been a somewhat scorned occupation. 

In a late copy of the "Review of Reviews" excellent 
advice is given to the well-meaning home-maker. Archi- 
tecture, the first item of importance, has been carefully 
considered. Men as a rule have little conception of what 
will be most convenient to a woman in the planning of a 
house, and women in studying this have been able to cor- 
rect many mistakes. 

No one will deny that a woman's conception of color is 
superior to man's. Men are proverbially color-blind, and 
this may excuse the lack of harmony so often found in the 
hues and tints of our homes. A woman would not dream 
of painting her house in the center of a city white with 
green blinds; the effect would be too dazzling. She would 
know that what was an anomaly in the city would be 
restful in the country, where the glaring white would be 
softened by dark, shady trees. 

Women have also given attention to the plumbing and 
draining of a house, and the home-maker of to-day is not 
obliged to call in a workman to tell her that her sink is 
out of repair. Her practical knowledge has enabled her 
to discern the imperfection and to suggest the remedy. 

But greater than any improvements in architecture and 
convenience are the changes in interior decoration. For 
the perfection of this art an aesthetic nature, cultivated 
eye and deft hand are required. In houses which are 
beautified by such women we no longer find the excru- 


dating parlors of "ye olden time," where trying shades 
of green and blue jarred on one's nerves, and where mohair 
sofas and straight-backed chairs stood in mathematical 
precision against the wall. Nor will the sensible woman 
persist in loading her house with Japanese fans, draperies 
and other Eastern fripperies, which seldom harmonize with 
the style of her own house. Wealth is not required for the 
adornment of a home, for the simplest articles are often 
productive of more restful enjoyment than gorgeous fur- 
nishing; the chief object is to make the distinction between 
simple elegance and tawdry tinsel. 

While extremes are never desirable, they are particularly 
objectionable in the home-life. Every woman likes to have 
her house neat, but for any one to devote all her energies 
merely to exterminating dirt is sinful. None of us would 
enjoy the representation of Phebe Ann Little, the neat 
woman, of whom it was reported that her husband fre- 
quently had to rise during the small hours of a winter 
night to sweep the cellar stairs or back-door step because 
Phebe had awakened tormented with the remembrance of 
having seen dust somewhere about her house. If her hus- 
band rebelled against these nightly missions Phebe Ann 
would exclaim with tragic emphasis, " George Henry Little, 
suppose I was to die before morning, with those cellar stairs 
not swept down!" This reflection generally overcame 
George Henry's fatigue. 

To our feminine ancestors cooking was only a series of 
experiments. If the recipe pleased the palate it was adopted, 
regardless of its hygienic value. We all remember the 
famous "pie," that combination of flour, lard, and fruit, 
which was agreeable to the taste but equally destructive to 
the digestive apparatus, and although we have been con- 
vinced of its disastrous effects there are some who still have 
a sneaking fondness for it. Now women learn at cooking- 


schools not only how to make delicious soups and salads, 
but also the nutritive value of protoids and hydro car- 
bonates, and it is rather disgraceful to be ignorant of carv- 
ing and marketing. 

In earlier days the anticipation of an entertainment filled 
the good housekeeper with apprehension and misgivings. 
Now receiving one's friends does not mean an edition of 
the "Sprowle Party," of which Mr. Holmes gives us a vivid 

"There was much clinking of borrowed spoons, which 
were to be carefully counted, much clinking of borrowed 
china, which was to be tenderly handled. 

"Every imaginable occupation was going on at once, 
roasting, boiling, baking, beating, rolling, pounding in 
mortars, frying, freezing — for there was to be ice-cream. 

"Colonel Sprowle had been pressed into service, and had 
agitated sweetened and thickened cream in what was called 
an ice-cream freezer. 

"Evening came at last, and all in fine array await the 
coming guests. 

" Hark ! They have come. 

" Everybody in position, smiling, and at ease. Bell 
rings. Enter first set of visitors. The party has begun ! 

"When all have come they repair to the dining-room. 

" ' Make yourselves at home, ladies and gentlemen,' says 
the Colonel; 'good things were made to be eaten, and you 
are welcome to what you see before you !' " 

A home should, above all things, express individuality. 
This is the distinguishing feature between a hotel and a 
private house. How could a hotel, which caters to the 
tastes of many people, have the cozy look of even the 
humblest home? The "Waldorf, the acme of luxury, can 
in no way take the place of a home. The silent grandeur 
of the apartments chills one, and though all is as regular 
as clock-work, still we are not satisfied. 2 


Of course we do not often see the ideal housewife, but it 
is the boast of our age that the higher culture of woman 
is constantly increasing the number of true home-makers, 
and we may hope that the next generation will have as the 
heart of every home the strong cultured woman, of whom 
we all love to think. 


Not long ago some American travellers were being shown 
over Chester Cathedral: one of them admiring the antiqui- 
ties of the place, said to the clergyman, their guide, 
" This is something that we have not in our country." 
"Yes," the clergyman answered, " but then you have things 
that we have not." "What, for instance?" inquired the 
other. "Well, you have Mark Twain and ' Harper's Maga- 
zine." And so we have, and not only this great humorist, 
Mark Twain, but our delightful John Kendrick Bangs, 
Whitcomb Riley, and the memory of Artemus Ward, 
Eugene Field, and Bill Nye. America may be justly proud 
of this group of merry-makers, for even England, who has 
had Sydney Smith, can envy us the possession of such a 
wit as Mark Twain Of course we have all read "Inno- 
cents Abroad," and we all remember the ludicrous picture 
of the tomb of Adam. On seeing the supposed grave of 
that ancient gentleman the Innocent exclaims : 

"The tomb of Adam! ... I leaned upon a post 
and burst into tears. I deem it no shame to have wept 
over the grave of my poor dead relative. Noble old man — 
he did not live to see me; he did not live to see his child. 
And I — I — alas, I did not live to see him. Weighed down 


by sorrow and disappointment, he died before I was born — 
six thousand brief summers before I was born. But let us 
try to bear it with fortitude." 

From the antiquity of his family one would suppose that 
Mr. Clemens would be president of some geneological 
society in this age of Colonial Dames and Sons of the Revo- 
lution. We have heard of daughters of Eve, so we would 
advise him to found a society called the "Sons of Adam." 
The humor of Mark Twain, like that of Eugene Field, 
is kindly and generous; he rarely leaves you with an 
unpleasant feeling. His mirth is comprehensive; but Mr. 
Field's humor is pleasing. Eugene Field was the poet of 
childhood; he loved the children, they loved him, and it 
was about them and for them that he chiefly wrote; but 
everybody cares for Mr. Field's poems as they do for Mark 
Twain's prose, and all little people sympathize with the 
boy who sees things in the night, and agree with him when 
he says: 

"I'd rather let Starvation wipe me slowly out of sight 
Than I should keep a-livin' on an' seein' things at night." 

Bill Nye, although not a native of our State, has lived 
with us so many years that we claim him as our North 
Carolina humorist. Mr. Nye was not so great as Mark 
Twain, or so beloved a writer as Eugene Field. His sketches 
are funny, but one grows a little tired after reading a 
good many of them. Mark Twain and Eugene Field never 
tire us; the former is always so witty, the latter is always 
so fresh and charming, that one can read book after 
book with delight. In the work of Field we find none of 
the coarseness which Bill Nye at times displays, and even 
in "Huckleberry Finn" we find more that is amusing 
than rough or coarse. 

Like Cervantes in his "Don Quixote," Mr. Clemens had 
a purpose in writing about the chivalrous Knights of the 


Court of King Arthur. Mark Twain is a true American 
in his love of liberty, but instead of writing high-sounding 
treatises on the subject, he attacks in his satire the higher 
classes who oppress the poor. "A Yankee in King Arthur's 
Court" is such a pleasing book that we like to read it at 
any time. A casual observer will no doubt discover nothing 
more than rollicking humor and a burlesque of " Morte 
d'Arthur," but this is only seeing what is on the surface, 
without comprehending the aim of the book or sympathiz- 
ing with its spirit. No one is a more inveterate hater of 
sham and cant than Mark Twain, and he has torn the veil 
from the beautiful but shadowy picture which Tennyson 
has presented of King Arthur's Court, and shown us the 
sordidness and squalor of the people. Bill Nye and Mark 
Twain have both written historical works ; the former's 
"Comic History of the United States" is characterized by 
keen satire and abounds in humorous incidents. "Per- 
sonal Recollections of Joan of Arc," the historical novel of 
Mr. Clemens, is entirely different from his other works, and, 
we are ashamed to say it, many critics have thought that 
it is too good to have been written by him. The real worth 
of the book may perhaps be more apparent a few years 
from now than at the present time; writers say that in this 
novel history and fiction are not properly fused : we have 
a slice of historical facts and then a slice of fiction. 

The strain of pathos which we find in Eugene Field is 
wholly lacking in Bill Nye. There is a strking contrast in 
even the titles of their poems and stories. " Lullaby ; By 
the Sea," "Child and Mother," "With Trumpet and Drum," 
are the titles of some of Mr. Field's dainty verses, while 
"The Forty Liars," "Bill Nye and the Boomerang," and 
" Bill Nye's Red-Pup," are specimens of Mr. Nye's work. 
"Bill Nye's Red-Pup" is a combination of all the mean- 
ness of which a canine quadruped is capable. Lem Lem- 
mons, who is supposed to be writing to Mr. Nye, says: 


" In matters of appetite he is easily pleased — will eat 
ordinary food, but is iuclined to diet himself on fine boots, 
kid gloves, silk stockings, and any clothing that may come 
within the sphere of action. It may be necessary for you 
to go bare-footed until he outgrows this freak, or you might 
avoid this alternative by keeping such articles locked up 
in a pup-proof safe." 

From such writings we turn with delight to the delicate 
verses of Eugene Field; but it is not in rhyme only that 
Mr. Field is so engaging, for his prose gladens us as much 
as his poetry. 

His last book, "The Love Affairs of a Bibliomaniac," is 
an account by a charming old bachelor of his different 
book-loves, and the mania that possesses him, from his 
affaires de coeur with the little "New England Primer," 
through those with Berauger, Villon, Dr. Johnson, and 
Boccacio. He tells us that too few people seem to realize 
that books have feelings. "But if I know one thing better 
than another I know this, that my books know me and 
love me." He shows appreciation of people's love for their 
curios by his anecdote of Miss Susan, who provided that 
after her demise a number of her most prized possessions 
should be buried with her. " The list, as I recall it, includes 
a mahogany four-post bedstead, an Empire dresser, a brass 
warming pan, a pair of brass andirons, a Louis Quinze 
table, a May-flower tea-pot, a Tomb of Washington platter, 
a pewter tankard, a pair of her grandmother's candle- 
sticks, a Paul Revere lantern, a tall Dutch clock, a com- 
plete suit of armor purchased in Rome, and a collection of 
Japanese bric-a-brac presented to Miss Susan by a returned 

Eugene Field wrote much to cheer men, to inspire them, 
to make them go about the toil and drudgery of every-day's 
existence with lighter hearts. He wrote much to touch the 
tenderer chords of men's hearts. 


American humor is peculiar; it is different from the 
humor of all other countries, just as Americaus are differ- 
ent from all other people. On account of our mixed ances- 
try our nervous organization is unlike that of any other 
people, and so the humor in our character is not an out- 
come of one race, with limited environments, but of many 
nations. There is just enough English blood in Americans 
to keep their humor from being too volatile, like the French, 
and just enough French blood to give it the champagne 
sparkle and effervescence along with the true wit inherited 
from our Irish forefathers. Englishmen do not understand 
our jokes even as much as we do theirs, but this is not 
strange when we remember that they are of one family, 
while Americans are heirs of the best humor and wit of 
many countries, yet it is a pity that our mirth is too cos- 
mopolitan for our English cousins to enjoy. And although 
we may admire their witty (?) Mr. Du Maurier as an artist, 
we have not gone so far as to enjoy his heavy English jokes, 
and we still believe that America has the greatest humorists 
of the world. 


To the lover of nature no scenery can have more meaning 
than that of the Scottish Highlands. Here "boon nature 
scattered free and wild plant and flower." The primrose 
and violet find a bower in each cliff, foxglove and night- 
shade add their dark hues to those of the weather-beaten 
crags, and the streams are guarded by the harebell on the 
mossy bank. Nor is the sublime wanting in the " warrior 
oak," the steep promontory, and 

" Highest of all, where white peaks glance, 
Where glistening streams wave and dance, 
The wanderer's eye can barely view 
The summer heaven's delicious blue." 


Over the heather-covered hills and crag-bound lakes is 
thrown a romantic glamour, and "the whole might seem 
the scenery of a fairy dream." 

Not less interesting than the scenery are the people 
whose privilege it is to call their own these hills and valleys, 
among which are scattered the tiny stone houses with low 
thatched roofs. 

Just a century ago, in one of these small, bare rooms, 
the greatest poet Scotland has ever produced, lay dying. 
Robert Burns, like Shelley and Keats, went from us in the 
glory of his manhood, before the full promise of his youth 
could be fulfilled, but "to live in hearts we leave behind 
is not to die," and though his work was early ended his 
lessons to us are not few. His poems first brought to light 
the beauty in the peasant-life and the truth that " grand- 
eur of soul is not born in purple." 

The small, clay cabin in which Burns was born is still 
standing near the banks of the " Bonnie Doon," within a 
short distance of the ruins of Alloway's " auld haunted 
kirk," the scene of the witch-dance in " Tarn O'Shanter." 
Here he passed his youth, living the life of all around 
him, but the gayest, brightest, most fascinating being to be 
found, and so he walked 

"In glory and in joy, 
Behind his plough, along the mountain side," 

drinking in the beauties of nature, which afterward served 
him in his poems. Love first made him a poet. She, the 
" bonnie, sweet, sonsie lass," gave him his inspiration; as 
his partner she labored in the harvest, and it was then, he 
tells us, he "first committed the sin of rhyme." 

Certainly no one else has ever given to the world more 
beautiful love-songs. In " Aea Fond Kiss and Then We 
Sever" is concentrated the essence of a thousand love- 
poems : 

" But to see her was to love her, 
Love but her and love forever." 


Burn's songs are like so many pastoral pictures, possess- 
ing all the beauties and none of the faults of his other 
poetry. In addition to the manly, heart-felt sentiment that 
pervades all his poetry the songs are not "set" to music, 
but flow as readily to it as if both had been created to- 
gether. To feel the full force of these songs we must hear 
them not from trained singers. They are the songs of the 
shepherd lass in the mountain glen. His subjects take 
varied forms: good-fellowship in the revel of the drinking- 
song, the glad greeting of " Auld Lang Syne," and the 
patriotism of such national anthems as " Scots wha hae wi' 
Wallace bled." Of this Carlyle says: " So long as there is 
warm blood in the heart of a Scotchman, or man, it will 
move in fierce thrills under this war-ode." 

His lyrics alone are sufficient to have made him famous, 
but all his poems are characterized by the same freshness 
and simplicit}'. They are perfectly natural because he 
loved and knew all he wrote about. The mountain daisy 
grew in the fields he ploughed; the mouse built her nest 
there; the dogs are his own collies; the Scotch drink was 
distilled on the banks of the Doon; Tarn O'Shanter was a 
merry farmer whom he knew; and even the " Deil Him- 
sel' " was a well-known person who had given them much 
alarm by the marks of his cloven-foot. Everything around 
him appealed to him from the all-comprehending love he 
bore nature, and his, the true poet-soul, needed but to be 
struck and it yielded music. A deep tinge of melancholy 
pervades his poetry. With a sad fondness he delights in 
" the hoar visage " of winter and the scenes of solemn deso- 
lation, and he often speaks of the " November chill ": 

" In sweeping blast the sky o'ercast, 

The joyless winter day, 
Let others fear, to me more dear 

Than all the pride of May: 
The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul, 

My griefs it seem to join, 
The leafless trees my fancy please, 

Their fate resembles mine!" 


But his heart goes out to his fellow-men in sympathy 
aud boundless love, and shows itself as he mingles with 
them and wherever he speaks of them. 

To " the short and simple annals of the poor " he has 
paid a beautiful tribute in his " Twa Dogs" and in the 
"Cotter's Saturday Night," a picture of his own home-life. 
To them he says: 

"To you I sing in simple Scottish lays, 
The lowly train in life's sequestered scene." 

He sees them as they are in the rough scenes of Scottish 
rustic life, but their worth and nobleness shine out to make 
them beautiful. Not only to man does his love and tender- 
ness extend. The " wee, timorous, cowering beastie" under 
his plough, and the poor little wanderer of the wood and 
field, the wounded hare, find a place in his heart. It is 
with the same feelings that he writes of beauties in the 
natural world; he sees them not with the contemplative 
eye of Wordsworth; nor does he see in them the emblems 
of higher things that Wordsworth sees, or the soul that to 
Shelley is there. All these are his friends — he has loved 
them from childhood. 

Burns is Scotch to the core, and we see the importance 
he attaches to patriotism, when he says: 

"It's guid to be merry and wise, 
It's guid to be honest and true, 
It's guid to support Caledonia's cause, 
And bide by the buff and blue." 

His English works are the product of his later years, 
after he had travelled and seen something outside his 
Ayrshire home; but, though much polished, they have not 
the charm of the verses in his native dialect. 

Though Scotland has given us other great writers, and 
to-day every one enjoys McLaren's Scotch stories, Burns' 
pure Scotch is unsurpassed, and in this age of craze for 


dialect, it seems strange that he is not more read. Scotland 
has shown her appreciation of his genius by her love and 
reverence for his memory, and Coleridge, Campbell, and 
Swinbourne have embalmed it in verses almost as immortal 
as his own. No more beautiful tribute could be paid to 
one's memory than that by Wordsworth to him: 

Who showed 
How Verse may build a princely throne, 
On humble truth." 

But thinking of the ways in which Burns is honored, 
the first is the imperishable monument he has raised in the 
hearts of all his fellow-men, and the world joins with Scot- 
land in celebrating the centennial of one of her truest sons 
and greatest poets, "The Ayrshire Ploughman." 


When a magazine devotes a page each month to the dis- 
cussion of our " Latest Fads " we may safely conclude that 
these foibles, looked upon by the learned as whimsical and 
nonsensical, are surely of sufficient importance to deserve 
serious consideration. 

The latter part of the nineteenth century is an age of 
fads; we have fads in dress — at present we admire large 
sleeves, and our women all look like animated balloons; 
this year we wear stiff collars — next year, probably, we will 
wear none. Sometimes we eat our ice-cream with a fork, 
and the unhappy one who inadvertently uses a spoon is 

Of course we have literary fads, but this is not the only 
age which has indulged in them. We don't know very 


much about the writings of Diogenes, but we know that he 
was a man of fads in everything else. His choice of a tub 
for a home, his search with a lantern in broad daylight for 
"an honest man " would surely in our day be called fads. 
Plato defined man as a " two-legged animal without feath- 
ers," whereupon Diogenes stripped a fowl of its plumage, 
threw it among the pupils of the great philosopher, bidding 
them " behold one of Plato's men." We can have no possi- 
ble doubt then that Diogenes must have had numerous 
literary foibles, and probably formed a literary style of his 
own. The mediaeval people had literary fads too, only 
they didn't know the proper name for them. Never has 
there been a more perfect illustration of this than the 
Euphuism of the age of Elizabeth, and never was there a 
more perfect victim of such a whim than the Queen her- 
self. Besides indulging in her conversation in this high- 
flown and pompous language, she gave encouragement to 
"those men of fine — new words, fashion's own knights, who 
have a mint of phrazes in their own brains, those whom 
the music of their own tongues doth ravish like enchant- 
ing harmony." These courtiers " oftentime had sweet 
thoughts, sometimes hard conceits," but sweet thoughts and 
hard conceits were generally overruled by a desire to "in- 
finitely refine upon the plain and rustical discourse of their 

The fashion set by Court was followed by the rest of the 
society world. Sir Percie Shafton, a diligent disciple of the 
affected, commends to a simple rustic "those-all-to-be, un- 
paralleled volumes, those exquisitely pleasant-to-be-read, 
and inevitably necessary to-be-remembered manuals," so 
much read and enjoyed by people of fashion. "Peace, 
good villagio," he says, "let me prevail upon you to imitate 
the laudable taciturnity of that honest rustic, who sits as 
mute as a mill-post, and of that comely damsel, who seems 


as with her ears she drank in what she did not altogether 
comprehend, even as a palfrey, listening to a kite, whereof, 
howsoever, he knoweth not the gamut." 

Scarcely less remarkable was the Johnsonese Literary 
Fad. Perhaps Johnson's efforts to remove the traces of his 
humble birth account for his fondness for pompous words 
and Latin derivitives. "He described the frivolity of a 
coxcomb in the same swelling periods in which he thun- 
dered against fanaticism and rebellion." And a compari- 
son between his original letters and those same letters 
revised for the press show amusing transformations. He 
writes in one of his letters: "When we were taken up stairs 
a dirty fellow bounced out of the bed on which one of us 
was to lie." He describes the same incident in one of his 
books: " Out of one of the beds on which we were to repose, 
started up, at our entrance, a man black as a Cyclops from 
the forge." 

The Cranford ladies are good illustrations of the John- 
sonese style, for Dr. Johnson was their hero, and it was 
but right that they should pay him the respect they could 
give by an imitation of his pomposity. In a heap of Miss 
Jenkins' old letters is one indorsed " Letter of pious con- 
gratulations, an exhortation from my venerable grand- 
father to my beloved .mother, on the occasion of my own 
birth; also some practical remarks on the desirability of 
keeping warm the extremities of infants, from my excel- 
lent grandmother." Letters from her father to her mother 
were marked, " from my honored husband," and were 
sprinkled with Latin quotations. According to the novels 
of the day our forefathers never gave so mild a command as 
" Go." Persons who molested them were told to " Avaunt, 
thee knave," while their friends were begged to " come 
hither." The reproofs of maiden aunts to their small 
nieces and nephews were invariably accompanied with a 
gentle "fie." 


Such are some of the fads of our ancestors, but what are 
our own pet literary foibles? 

Something which is influencing current literature very 
much is the reverence which is given the " Young Person." 
The French and English writers have treated the subject in 
conspicuously different ways, for the French authors have 
divided their books sharply into two classes, one written 
for the full grown and the other for the Young Person. 
On the other hand, English books have been written with 
onlv'the Young Person in view. Both these extremes have 
led to ludicrous results; the French have given to their 
school-girl readers editions of " Telamaque," with " friend- 
ship " carefully substituted for "love," while the English 
have gone so far as to forbid, in a popular magazine, the 
mention of wine in its pages. A reform is necessary, for 
even the French can see that the "Young Persons " will read 
what is not intended for them, and the Englishman knows 
that if the Young Person does not gain knowledge of the 
world through literature he will gain it through experience. 

Some of our most abused words are atmosphere and 
environment. All stories must have an atmosphere or 
environment. They must in some impalpable way breathe 
an unusual aroma. In days when Mrs. Ann Radcliffe and 
Miss Buruey wrote, no one thought of atmosphere ; these 
writers wrote for Romance only, and if there was such a 
thing as atmosphere, it came by chance. Now, in Grace 
King's "Balcony Studies" w T e seem almost transported to 
the sunny towns of Louisiana. Miss Wilkins chills us 
with the bleak desolation of the old maid in New Eng- 
land-life, and Rudyard Kipling blasts us with the feverish 
winds of the jungle and frightens us with the hiss of the 
snake. When Holmes wrote the " Autocrat of the Break- 
fast Table " he had no idea how soon it was to be followed 
b} r stories dealing with a similar environment; we have 
" Coffee and Repartee," " Dream Life," " Reveries of a 


Bachelor," and "Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow," all 
written in a graceful, easy style, and transporting the 
delighted reader to the breezy piazza, the charming break- 
fast-room, or the easy chair before a blazing fire. 

Anything may give an environment, the few small 
buildings and circumstances of a tiny village, or the 
splendid surroundings of a New York ball. As a result of 
this fad for atmosphere, we have lectures upon how to har- 
monize ourselves with our surroundings, and essays upon 
the evils of improper environment. Many sentimental 
young women, on account of ill-health, or a feverish dispo- 
sition, become dissatisfied with their homes, and feel that 
by a change they can find a place where they will be more 
appreciated. The summer trips to sea and mountains, the 
winter excursions to the South and constant emigrations 
abroad are all results of this yearning for proper environ- 

The fancy for short stories has produced a number of 
writers who never attempt any other kind of literature. 
Some of the monthly magazines constantly publish stories 
rarely exceeding two pages in length. The main object 
seems to be to leave the reader in a delicious uncertainty; 
it is not at all the thing to have an ending. The most 
satisfactory arrangement perhaps is to leave two persons in 
midocean in a violent storm, somewhat after the pattern 
of Vilette. Olive Shreiner in her " Dreams " set the fash- 
ion for this sort of storiette and ephemeral writers have 
been quick to follow it. Now and then the stories are 
charming, but sometimes this whim for excessive brevity 
has led to absurd results. Society has adopted the fad for 
abbreviation, and its fashionable notes frequently have the 
curtailed air of a business correspondence. Far from 
charming, however, is a style made popular by the news- 
paper writers. Those articles are the most widely-read 
which are most " wordy," and he is considered to speak 


best who has most completely forgotten the words which he 
heard as a child. We do not read of a fire, but of a "con- 
flagration." or the " devouring element "; a will is a will no 
longer, but a " volition "; men are " individuals" ; thev are 
not buried in so humble a thing as a grave-yard, it is much 
more elegant to be " interred in a cemetery." A " resi- 
dence " is more impressive than a house, a " location " than 
place, and a "sacred edifice" than church. We "con- 
verse" instead of talking, we "erect" instead of building; 
our towns are cities and our cities are provincial towns. 

Of late years the dialect fad has made some of our books 
and stories almost foreign to us. We have labored to under- 
stand the Georgia Crackers, the Tennessee Mountaineers, 
and the Louisiana Cajuns. The negro has occupied a 
prominent place and has given us his ante helium expe- 
riences in various degrees of intelligibility. In fact a new 
fad greets us at every turn, and when we consider the num- 
ber, variety and prevalence of these fads it seems probable 
that in this, as in many other things, we seem destined to 
excel every other age. 


We all like a genuine duuce; his utter lack of the sense 
of humor, his entire lack of appreciation of a joke, his 
want of self-consciousness make him attractive. Then we 
like dunces not only for their own sakes but because they 
are so essential to society. To be surrounded always with 
wits would give one the feeling that he would have con- 
tinually to exert himself so as not to be considered a fool 
by them, but in conversation with the dull man a sense of 
security comes over one. He promises us nothing, we do 


not expect him to make witty remarks, we have no antici- 
pations that oracular utterances will proceed from his dull 
brain, his presence has a soothing effect upon us, and alto- 
gether we consider him a charming character when we are 
not in the mood for witticisms. Dunces are happy beings. 
They have the reputation of being foolish, and even if a 
glimmering of brilliancy should dawn on their folly the 
world need not know it, and they may go on in their fool- 
ishness. A dunce is a great solace to a person who has 
listened for hours to a dissertation on the subject of " The 
Tariff" or "Free Silver." He knows nothing about it, 
and one can impart to him one's ignorance without fear of 
being ridiculed. Charles Lamb tells us in his essay on 
" All Fool's Day ": " I love a fool as naturally as if he 
were kith and kin to me. The more laughable blunders a 
man shall commit in your company," he continues, "the 
more tests he giveth you that he will not betray or over- 
reach you. I love the safety which a palpable hallucina- 
tion warrants, the security which a word out of season 
ratifies. And take my word for this, reader, and sa}' a 
fool told you, if you please, that he who hath not a dram 
of folly in his mixture hath pounds of much worse matter 
in his composition." 

It is the slow man who makes changes in this world. The 
profound thinker has such a wide scope of knowledge to 
draw from that it is difficult for him to make a choice, but 
the fool may have one object in life, something over which 
he has dwelt with eyes blinded to everything else, and 
which he finally, by his perseverance, introduces as a plan 
of reform. For instance, his " hobby " may be " exercise "; 
like the Romans of old, he subjects himself to the strictest 
bodily training, he walks mile after mile, laboring for the 
cause, he has a special routine of physical exercises to go 
through with every day, and nothing can induce him to 


omit the least of these, but in the end he conquers, and 
shows to the world in the form of a health}' body, his 

There is some consolation in being a fool, then: to be 
beneficial to the world, and to live in the hope of becoming 
wise, as some of our greatest men rose from folly to wisdom. 
"Newton ranked low as a scholar in his boyhood, so that 
his father used to say of him that if it pleased God to take 
from him any of his children, he hoped it might be Isaac, 
as he was the least promising." If Newton was a dunce in 
his youth isn't there hope for the dull man of to-day? Sir 
Walter Scott had the credit of having the thickest skull in 
the High School of Edinburg. The younger Cato in his 
infancy was thought to have beeu an idiot, and some one 
has said that Lamb and Lowell were fools. 

The wisdom of the present age is one of its greatest 
faults. We go too far into the mysteries of life. We 
analyze our food so that whenever we eat we are fearful of 
some newly-discovered poison; when we drink we think of 
the numberless animalcuke that we are imbibing; and 
since Doctor Roentgen's great discovery not even our bones 
are safe from prying scientists. The world is too wise. 
Fools are becoming less numerous every da} r , and for this 
very reason we are growing more and more attached to 

Which of us would give up the folly of Don Quixote for 
all the learning of a man of more modern times? Do } r ou 
remember the watch by his armour before he was dubbed 
a knight? How he braced on his target, " and, grasping 
his lance with graceful demeanor, paced to and fro?" And 
when the water-carriers removed his armour from the cis- 
tern on which he had placed it, he scorned them as traitors, 
and felled them to the ground with one blow of his rusty 
lance. Then there is that still more absurd picture of the 



knighting of Don Quixote by the innkeeper and of the 
setting out of the formidable looking knight mounted upon 
Rozmante and accompanied by the more foolish Sancho 
Panza. As they were discoursing they came in sight of 
thirty or forty wind-mills, and as soon as Don Quixote 
espied them he said to his squire: " Fortune disposes our 
affairs better than we ourselves could have desired; look 
yonder, friend Sancho Panza, where thou mayest discover 
somewhat more than thirty monstrous giants, whom I 
intend to encounter and slay." And recommending him- 
self devoutly to his lady Dulcinea, " he rushed upon the 
foe," Sancho all the while warning him that it was not 
giants, but wind-mills, that he was attacking. Where could 
one find a wit so amusing as this foolish Castilian, who for 
three hundred years has delighted the world ? Dunces are 
often amusing whether they will or no. Even when they 
are taking themselves most seriously and imagining them- 
selves to be the wits of their age, behold some man of genius 
pillories them and they become a laughing-stock for future 
generations. Such is the whole tribe of poetasters in the 
time of Dryden and Pope. His dullness is the only memo- 
rial of Richard Flecknoe, an insignificant Irish writer, 
whom Dryden has immortalized by his satire. He crowns 
Flecknoe " King of Dunces," " through all the realms of 
nonsense absolute," and introduces Thomas Shadwell as 
his successor. 

" 'Tis resolved," he makes Flecknoe say, " for nature pleads that he 
Should only rule that most resembles me. 
Shadwell alone my perfect image bears, 
Mature in dullness from his early years: 
Shadwell alone of all my sons is he 
Who stands confirmed in full stupidity. 
The rest to some faint meaning make pretense, 
But Shadwell never deviates into sense." 

The name of Colley Gibber would have long ago been 


doomed to eternal forgetfulness but for Pope's mention of 
him in the "Dunciad." 

Shakespeare shows us that fools were common in his day 
by the introduction of such characters into so many of his 
dramas. His fools are of two kinds: the veritable dunce, 
whose lack of brains is his chief characteristic, and the 
jester, whose vocation in life is to make witticism for the 
amusement of the Court, and who in reality is not a fool, 
but a wise man, with all his wisdom running in one channel. 

The unconscious fool is amusing because he is so ignorant 
of the ridiculous character he presents. Malvolio little 
thought that his bewitching smiles and courtly airs, his 
yellow, cross-gartered stockings were a source of amusement 
to Olivia. We always associate Malvolio with inane smiles 
and love-sick looks and picture him reading the letter and 
rehearsing the part he will play when he shall appear before 
the Countess in the attitude of a lover. 

Even Sir Toby, although amused at the idiotic behaviour 
of Malvolio, has a good deal of the fool in himself. 

Then there is Sly, the Tinker, dressed up in the costume 
of a fine gentlemau, surrounded by attendants, with a look 
of strange bewilderment on his face, asking for a " pot of 
sma' ale"; and Grumio staring at his master with round, 
stupid eyes when told to " knock him at the gate." 

"Knock, sir! Whom should I knock, is there any man 
has 'rebused' your worship?" 

"Villain, I say, knock me here soundly." 

" Knock you here, sir! Why, sir, what am I, sir, that I 
should knock you here, sir?" 

What would Shakespeare's plays be without the second 
class of fools: his fools by profession ? Lear's fool, Touch- 
stone, the clown in the Winter's Tale, Falstaff? The jesters 
enliven the severest tragedy with the merry jingle of their 
bells; they come upon the scene at the time when they are 


most needed and give to it a happy character which it 
would otherwise lack. We could scarcely bear the horror 
of Lear were it not for the quips and jests of the fool. 
What would the poor old king do without his clown! He 
admires his ready repartee, he likes to have him with him, 
and misses him when he is absent; the old man clings to 
him through all his misfortunes. 

Touchstone is one of the most entertaining of all Shake- 
speare's characters. His humor enlivens the long, weary 
journey of Celia and Rosalind to the Forest of Arden. He 
is especially amusing when he gives us an account of the 
Retort Courteous, the Quip Modest, the Reply Churlish, the 
Reproof Valiant, the Countercheck Quarrelsome and so to 
the Lie Circumstantial and the Lie Direct. 

Perhaps in all Shakespeare's plays there is no one else 
to equal that prince of professional fools, Falstaff. His aim 
in life seems to be to make people " laugh and grow fat," 
and he uses almost any means to gain his end. We tolerate 
in Falstaff what we could not bear in another. We follow 
him with the greatest interest through all his revels and 
delight in his jokes. Perhaps it is from Sir John that we 
draw that proverbial saying that " fat people are always 

But none of us need make vain attempts to attain to 
Duncism; like the poet, the true fool is born, not made. If 
the thing is not innate no struggles will bring it to us. 
Dunces and dull people are without question a great help 
in this too wise world, and the world has shown her appre- 
ciation of them by setting aside one day in the year in 
their honor, and for hundreds of years men have delighted 
to celebrate on the first of April the large society of All 



There are now so many clever writers of fiction con- 
tributing their monthly or yearly articles to literature that 
the death of one of them would scarcely make a gap in the 
literary world, but not long since a rare spirit was taken 
from us all and the world mourns for Stevenson, the bright- 
eyed rover, who is sleeping so peacefully on the high 
Samoan mountain. This sense of personal loss is naturally 
most acute in Scotland, the land of his nativity. Scotland 
gave him to the world and to the end he remained her faith- 
ful son, preserving the traditions, traits and accents of his 
mother country. 

" At times I lent him for a game, 

To north and south and east and west, 
But no for lang, he soon came hame, 
For here it was he played the best." 

She laments her gifted son through the tributes of her 
best living writers, who revered Stevenson as their master 
and loved him for his kindly, helpful welcome of their 
humbler works. 

But not from Scotland only comes the sound of lamenta- 
tion, wherever the English language is read and the story 
of adventure is loved it may be heard. 

The incurable disease which developed so early in Steven- 
son, and which he fought so bravely, rendered it necessary 
for him to leave Scotland in search of a climate better 
suited to delicate lungs, where he could breathe without the 
pain that racked him. Long was the search and long and 
noble the battle with disease. 

After trying the countries of the Mediterranean, the 
Adriondacks and California, and finding no relief, accom- 
panied by Mrs. Stevenson and Lloyd Osborne, his step-son, 


he made a voyage among the South sea islands. Just in 
the rear of Apia, the capital of Samoa, on a narrow shelf 
in the mountain side, where there were three springs of 
water and where the view of the ocean was ever peaceful, 
Stevenson placed "Vailima," his home, and there in the 
roomy and airy house with broad verandas shaded with 
vines, sheltered by towering mountains and in sight of the 
blue waters of the sea he lived an ideal life. His home 
with its beautiful surroundings presents a marked contrast 
to the poor and comfortless stone cottage where he passed 
his childhood and early youth, and which was, as he him- 
self tells us, 

" A naked house, a naked moor, 
A shivering pool before the door, 
A garden bare of flowers and fruits, 
And poplars at the garden foot; 
Such is the place that I live in, 
Black without and bare within." 

From his beautiful retreat Stevenson's busy brain worked 
out the stories which have charmed the world. 

Every romance writer reveals himself in his books, espe- 
cially if he writes in the first person, and this is particu- 
larly the case with Stevenson. His writings show the same 
spirit which prompted him, when in a cafe in Paris, to slap 
a Frenchman whom he heard say that the English were 
cowards, and then to reply to the remonstrances of the sur- 
prised Gaul by telling him that he deserved the slap, a 
reply which restored the good humor of both. Stevenson's 
remarkable personality drew towards him every one who 
knew him, and inspired them with admiration and affection 
which grew as his success increased and his fame became more 
wide-spread. One of his friends has said that Stevenson 
possessed more than any other man he ever saw the power of 
making men fall in love with him. In his stories of adven- 
ture his fame will most surely live, and we lament his death 


because he was a romantic writer in the midst of a realistic 
age. His treatment of life from the romantic, picturesque 
and adventurous sides makes him peculiarly attractive. 
Never does he weary us with the pedantry of modern prob- 
lems, never does he dally with vices to serve the ends of 
purity. There is a wild charm about his novels as he 
leads us through the excitement and dash of adventure. 
Crockett, in referring to "Treasure Island," says: "Our 
hearts dance when Mr. Stevenson lands his cut-throats with 
one part of himself as hero and the other as villain." His 
insatiate love for the unusual darkens into lurid horror 
throughout " Thraun Janet " and " Ovdala." Of the longer 
stories, the most tragic and in some respects the strongest 
is the " Master of Ballantrae." The very restraint of Mr. 
Henry is terrible to think of, while the Master's villainy is 
more hateful and unmitigated than all the crimes which the 
stories of a rogue's gallery could tell. And yet so loth is 
Stevenson to leave his rascals in unremitting darkness, 
that here one faint ray is reflected on Ballantrae from the 
dog-like devotion of Secundra Dass. When that faithful 
Hindoostauee doubles on his tracks and digs under the 
cold Adirondack moon, with blows falling " like sobs" in 
the grave of his living master, the hatred we have borne 
through two hundred pages vanishes. We pray with 
all our hearts that the shivering Indian will breathe life 
into the waxen face, and we yearn for him when the day 
dawns and his task is fruitless. 

But notwithstanding these thrilling adventures there is 
no lazy, careless work. Stevenson is deep, logical and 
careful of small incidents. He gives strong touches of 
truth to the external machinery, so that his descriptions 
leave no taste for questioning. In his romances the moon 
is carefully conducted through her phases — he wrote with 
an almanac before him — the clouds are gathered or parted 
asunder as is the nature of clouds to be. The plots of his 


stories were barely outlined in his imagination and then 
he bent himself, regardless of obstacles, to obtain the exact 
local color which would enable him to tell the story "just 
as it happened." In " Treasure Island " he heartily wished 
Jim Hawkins to sail in a brig, according to the best pirat- 
ical antecedents, but he gave it up for a schooner because 
he was not certain of his ability to manage a square rigger 
with glory and safety. All this care in details increases 
the wild charm of his novels because they make the reader 
feel that the stories are true. 

So long as physical courage and adventurous chivalry 
are attractive qualities, and so long as our instinctive love 
survives for soldiers, ships, sailors, hair-breadth escapes, 
cruel hatreds and mighty friendships, so long will the 
novels of Stevenson enthral the world. 

We feel that no one can fill the place which his death 
has left vacant, but there are a few novelists who are in 
many ways his followers, and chief among these are Wey- 
man and Hope. Weyman, on being questioned as to his 
tastes in fiction, replied that he was fondest of Stevenson, 
and called him his master, and Anthony Hope suggests 
Stevenson's romantic manner in his mild tale "The Pris- 
oner of Zenda." 

The novels of Weyman and Hope, like those of Steven- 
son, possess that peculiar charm which we frequently find 
in stories written in the first person. M. de Barault, the 
hero in "Under the Red Robe," gives us his own account 
of his duel with the Englishman, of his interview with 
Richelieu, of his conversations with Mademoiselle. Like- 
wise the hero of "The Prisoner of Zenda" takes us with 
him on his expeditions, we are present at his coronation, 
we follow him breathlessly during the time when he is the 
"play-actor," watching his repeated attempts to rescue the 
king, and rejoicing with him in the final accomplishment 
of his purpose. 


Stevenson and Weyman are evidently attracted by the 
same type of woman. During Stevenson's stay in the 
Adriondacks an American lady asked him why women did 
not {'lay a more important role in his books; at that time 
he had written of no love-making. The novelist replied 
with engaging frankness that the particular virtue which 
appealed to him most strongly and which he loved to cele- 
brate in fancy was physical courage of the adventurous 
variety, and that women were wholly lacking in; but in his 
later novels he did portray women, but always women of 
strength and fierce courage. His men and women love at 
once, the wooing is done to an accompaniment of sword 
play and horse-pistols. Weyman's idea of woman can be 
readily seen from one short sentence from a single novel. 
The woman whom Gil de Barault saw from the attic window 
in the "Green Pillar" looked like a woman formed by nature 
to meet dangers and difficulties, and even there at midnight 
she seemed in place. It was possible that under her queenly 
exterior and behind the contemptuous smile with which 
she heard the landlord's story there lurked a woman's soul 
of folly and tenderness, but no outward sign betrayed its 
presence. Then he adds, "Secretly, if the truth be told, 
I was glad to find Madame de Cocheforet such a woman. I 
was glad that she had laughed as she had, that she was not 
a little, tender, child-like woman, to be crushed with the 
first pinch of trouble." 

Both Weyman and Hope make our interests one with 
their heroes as they draw us away from our surroundings 
to follow them through all their adventures, and we who 
are wearied with the discussion in novels of ethics and 
sociolog}', we who find the strong-minded woman tiresome 
rather than attractive, may enjoy in the future many a 
charming hour in company with a real hero and a real 



St. Mary's School, 
Raleigh, N. C, October 18, 1896. 

My dear Miss D : Your letter, which I received 

some time ago, has been left unanswered until now, for the 
reason that I could not at once collect the material for the 
story of my summer trip, having this time really, and finally 
been abroad. You know I have contemplated this 
European trip for a long time, but have always postponed 
it for some reason or other until last summer, when the 
much-wished for opportunity of hearing Wagner's " Der 
Ring der Niebelungen " at Bayreuth finally decided me, 
and so on the 25th of June I left New York on the steamer 
" Bismarck " for Hamburg. 

Of the ocean trip I need say very little, as you know all 
about the delights, the glories and the miseries which go 
to make up the history of a week at sea. Enough to say 
that the vo} T age was exceedingly fine, and the steamer a 
miracle of human ingenuity. 

After spending a week or so with friends in Hamburg (a 
most beautiful and interesting city, by the way), I started 
for my grand tour of over 2,000 kilometres through Ger- 

Cologne was the first stopping place, and here I received 
one of those rare impressions that last through life; I refer 
to that wondrous and beautiful Cathedral which, standing 
in glory and strength, almost on the banks of the Rhine, 
that river so intimately connected with all that is most 
poetic in the German mind, seems to say: "Behold me! 
Enter, look and wonder!" And indeed, on entering, the 
vastness of the building is almost awe-inspiring. The eye 
travels upward along those massive columns until they 


appear to fadeaway in a dim mist. One turns towards the 
High Altar, and like a dream-picture appear to one priests, 
accolytes and kneeling worshippers; a ravishing and ever- 
varying net-work of color; curve melting into curve of the 
glorious Gothic windows; faint echoes; an atmosphere sug- 
gestive of incense; and over all a spirit of sublime peace 
which lays its spell upon one. This Cathedral was begun 
in the year 1248 and finished in 1880. Upon payment of 
a small fee, the visitor is shown the church treasures, 
among which is the shrine of the Three Kings. This is a 
marvel of the goldsmith's art ; an art now counted among 
the lost. Then there is an immense piece of tapestry, 
upon which, during a period of three hundred years, the 
ladies of Cologne worked with untiring zeal. This evidence 
of their skill and patience, and above all, the spirit of 
devotion shown thereby, are things to ponder upon. 

The fascination of climbing now laid hold upon me; 
nothing would do, but I must view the city from the 
highest accessible point of one of the towers. I took a 
guide — a very necessary precaution, as one can get lost in 
the perfect maze of passages leading in every direction. If, 
upon entrance, I thought the edifice large, my breath was 
fairly taken away, when looking down from a gallery only 
half way up to the roof, the people walking on the pave- 
ment below, looked like flies. From here one gets a fine 
view of the stained-glass windows, such as it is no longer 
possible to make. Now we continued our ascent, and after 
some time reached the belfry. This, in itself, is an 
enormous dome; nine bells hang here, the largest of which, 
the " Kaiser glocke," was made from canon captured from 
the French in the year 1870. This bell is rung only five 
times a year, and requires twenty-four men to set in motion. 
Finally we reached the top, but the view was a disappoint- 
ment, as the rain and fog had settled over the city. Most 


wonderful is the beauty of the stone-carving that one sees 
at every turn. Even things so placed as to be rarely seen 
are perfectly finished to the very smallest detail. What 
work, what patience! Never will such a church be built 
again. It stands absolutely without an equal. 

From Cologne, I now took the steamer for the Rhine 
trip. This part of the general tour was a failure, in so far 
as rain and fog followed us the whole time. Occasionally 
an old ruin peeped out for a moment to gladden one's eyes, 
but these glimpses were few and far between. Only once 
did the clouds lift, and that was as we neared the legend- 
haunted Loreley rock, so famous in German song and 
poetry. Just here the river is very narrow, and the rock 
rises abruptly out of the water to a great height. 

But alas for the poetry of the scene! At night, drifting 
alone in a boat on the river, yes! But in the day-time one 
hears and sees too many things modern and disillusionary. 
Trains are running on either side of the river; a tunnel has 
been bored through the rock; heavy tugs are puffing along 
the stream, and to crown all, just as we rounded the rock, 
some fool on the steamer sang at the top of his voice: " The 
Sunshine of Paradise Alley!" 

ye shades of Heine and Silcher! 

The hill-sides are a sight to remember. Everywhere is 
planted the vineyard. In every sheltered nook one sees 
the grape-vine carefully tied to stakes, and where there is 
no vine one sees yellow patches of wheat, so that the whole 
landscape appears like a beautiful piece of patch-work in 
green, yellow, grey, and dark blue. 

We passed, in due time, Bingen. I forgot all about the 
celebrated poem, " Fair Bingen on the Rhine," in the enjoy- 
ment of the lovely landscape now opening before us. 

But I must hurry on and pass over the impressions made 
by visits to Mayence, Heidelberg, Baden-Baden, that gem, 


the pearl of all European baths. Here I remained a week, 
enjoying long walks in the pine forests which stretch for 
many miles in all directions. 

A week was spent in Stuttgart, where I passed my former 
school-days. Among the many visits made to old teachers 
and friends none was more pleasant than that to Professor 
Speidel (the director of the Stuttgart Conservatory of Music), 
my former master of music. Although now 75 years of 
age, he expressed the liveliest interest in my professional 
work, and had me tell him all about St. Mary's, Raleigh, 
and the United States in general. 

While in Stuttgart I attended a concert of the Vth Ger- 
man " Saengerfest," and heard a chorus performed by some 
five thousand singers. 

Short stops were made in Munich (where I heard a 
splendid performance of " Tannhauser " and saw many 
celebrated paintings), and also in Nuremberg, a grand old 
city full of interest, which brought before my mental eye 
the scenes described in Weyman's " Lady Rotha." 

%. $z $z ^c ^ ^c %. 

The dream of my life has now been realized, for on the 
9th of August I reached Bayreuth, that place made famous 
by the great Poet-Composer, Richard Wagner, who here 
built a theatre fit for the ideal performance of those colossal 
Music Dramas, which have revolutionized the musical 
thought of the whole civilized world. As has been well 
said in a recent English magazine: " The choice of this 
dull town with the departed fragrance of its little court 
and its fast fading souvenirs of Jean Paul Richter, was 
eminently a wise one." In the year 1876, just twenty 
years ago, the first performance of " Der Ring des Nibe- 
lungen " marked the beginning of these so-called " Festival 
plays," which have taken place at short iutervals. 

Opposed on all sides, thwarted in all his plans, the Master, 


at the suggestion of his royal patron, King Ludwig of 
Bavaria, left Munich and made his home in the town of 

It is now a matter of history how the funds necessary for 
the building of this theatre were raised; how singers and 
orchestras were trained to interpret this music; how the 
art-theories of Wagner were finally accepted, and a glorious 
victory of a mighty intellect was ultimately achieved. 

This year five performances of "Der Ring" took place. 
Each performance lasted four days and consisted of the 
following works: "Das Rheingold," "Die Walkuere," 
"Siegfried" and "Die Goetterdaemmerung." 

Before giving you a detailed account of these splendid 
performances, let me attempt a description of the theatre 

It is, by no means, a structure architecturally beautiful, 
all the art of the designers being displayed in the interior 
arrangements, which are so unlike those of other large 
continental opera-houses, as to be a matter of great sur- 
prise. In the first place, there are no galleries; in the 
second, the seats are all placed on a gradual slope, the 
number of seats in each row increasing towards the back. 
Every spectator gets a complete view of the stage, and the 
acoustic properties are perfect. The one great feature is 
the complete concealment of the immense orchestra of 
one hundred and thirty-five performers, which causes its 
sounds to blend with the voices of the singers on the stage 
in a way impossible to describe. 

Built upon an eminence which commands an extensive 
and beautiful view over the town and the surrounding 
country, the theatre is made still more attractive by being 
placed in the midst of a well-kept park, thus offering 
abundant recreation after the severe mental strain of listen- 
ing to the mighty works performed within. 


The first act of each drama begins promptly at 4 p. m. 
The signal for the audience to take their seats is a trumpet 
call, consisting of a short musical phrase taken from the 
work to be performed. After a second signal the audito- 
rium is darkened; only a faint shimmer of light hovers 
over the " Mystic Abyss," as Wagner designates the space 
allotted to the hidden orchestra. A few moments only, and 
death-like stillness has settled over the vast audience, one 
imagines oneself absolutely alone in the house. Then, 
faint but clear comes the sound of a deep-toned instru- 
ment; the music swells to wonderful power. This orchestra, 
right from the beginning, enchants, enthralls you. A 
mighty spirit is speaking, one feels it, knows it, and sits in 
wonder. I cannot begin to describe the beauty of tone, the 
technical finish, the exquisite shading, the blending of tone- 
colors, the ethereal pianissimos, the terrific crescendos, 
produced by this body of musicians led by the great com- 
poser's son, Siegfried Wagner. Then, without a rustle, 
the curtain parts, and the depths of the Rhine are dis- 
closed to view. The three Rhine daughters moving grace- 
fully about are singing, as they keep watch over the fateful 
treasure confided to their care. 

This first scene (as well as many others), is a triumph of 
stage mechanism. 

The music in the orchestra goes on without ceasing, and 
when the end came — it was nearly half-past seven — one left 
the theatre in a sort of dream. It was all so different from 
an ordinary operatic performance. 

The mornings I spent walking in and around Bayreuth, 
and found many places of interest to visit; as, for instance, 
the " Hermitage," a palace of one of the former Margraves 
of Bayreuth. Nor did I fail to visit the graves of Wagner, 
Liszt, and of Jean Paul Richter. 

The second day, as I have said before, brought " Die 
Walkuere." This drama is divided into three acts ; after 


each act an intermission of a half hour was given. The 
wisdom of this is very apparent, as the closest attention 
must be given at the same time to the music in the 
orchestra, and to all that takes place on the stage, by no 
means a simple matter, especially when I tell you that each 
act lasts one hour and a half! 

And so it went on, day after day, until the final scene of 
" Die Goetterdaemmerung " was reached. As the curtain 
closed, and marked the end of this, the fourth cycle, the 
audience would not leave, but kept up a veritable Pande- 
monium of applause ; but it was of no avail. The strict 
rules governing the artists at Bayreuth will not allow them 
to acknowledge any applause, for, "The Work, first; the 
performer, second," this is the motto. 

The leading spirit in all things is Madame Cosima Wag- 
ner, who rules with an iron hand. I caught a glimpse of 
the lady, and she looks the woman she is. 

It was with great regret that I had to say good-bye to 
Bayreuth ; even had I wished to stay longer, the rainy, 
cold weather was against me, and then the time of my 
departure for America was drawing near to a close. I there- 
fore had to make haste to reach Berlin, a city new to me, 
and where a very fine Exhibition was being held. 

You who have been to the World's Fair at Chicago need 
no description of what I saw in Berlin, all Exhibitions 
being pretty nearly alike, but I must tell you about a ver} r 
practical use to which the Germans have put the " penny- 
in-the-slot machines." This is an automatic restaurant. 
Hot or cold meats, salads, cakes, tea, coffee, etc., etc., all can 
be had by simply dropping the requisite coin into the box, 
pulling a handle, and you are served ! No waiters are to 
be seen far or near; one need only follow the directions 
plainly printed everywhere, the most conspicuous of which 
is: "Serve thyself." 


But here I must stop. You know I have still a great 
deal to tell you : how I went from picture-gallery to picture- 
gallery ; saw churches, palaces, monuments, so much in fact 
that I really felt relieved when I found myself again on 
board the staunch " Bismarck," and reached New York 
the 11th of September, much benefited both in mind and 
body by my trip. 

Hoping to hear from you again, and especially in regard 
to the discussion we once had concerning the worth and 
the enduring qualities of Wagner's work, 
I remain, sincerely yours, 

Albert A. Mack. 



The years that have passed since the last number of 
our magazine was issued have been so many that we are 
afraid some of our friends may have forgotten that our 
dear little paper ever existed, but we are very sure that all 
the girls who read and helped to make it will gladly wel- 
come another copy of our old Muse, and that the welcome 
will be all the heartier because each year of absence only 
makes St. Mary's dearer to them all. 

And now, what do we all most wish to know about our 
school and its progress? The grove still seems as beautiful 
as ever, even though the wind-storms have once or twice 
played havoc with our trees, the old tree now covered with 
the ivy planted years ago by Mr. Sanborn is still a joy to us, 
the grey rock-houses covered with roses are just as pretty 
and picturesque as of old, and above all the chapel, about 
which our tenderest memories always cling when we leave 
St. Mary's, is still the heart and inspiration of the school. 
Our chapel has been made most beautiful of late years by 
the brass altar-rail, vases, cross and altar-desk, all of them 
thank-offerings and memorials, and by tiie exquisite brass 
lectern given by the daughters of St. Mary's in memory of 
Dr. Aldert Smedes. 

But the years have made some changes for us; the Class 
of '85, which issued the last Muse, would never recognize 
" Margaret " and the " Twins." Can you believe that Mar- 
garet is almost a young lady and that the Twins are actually 
in the " big school-room?" When you left Mary and Helen 
were just toddling about the house on their short, unsteady 
feet, and occasionally exclaiming with charming smiles after 
a tumble, " I like to fell down and broke my crown." 


The lovely white iron beds have been put in so recently 
that they are still a wonder and delight to us. In time we 
may become used to them and treat them with the same 
familiarity with which we misused the ugly yellow wooden 
beds of "ye olden time," but we doubt it. You can't 
imagine how pretty they look in the blue-painted dormi- 
tories. And then our dining-tables! Dear, cos}- square 
tables, which will just seat seven girls and a teacher! Mrs. 
Smedes has made the dining-room very attractive this fall 
with flowers and autumn leaves, and the new pictures and 
furniture add greatly to its appearance. 

The buildings are the same, but we are sure you would 
be delighted to see the progress St. Mary's has made in all 
her departments during the last few years. Do you know 
that we have a large and separate violin department and 
that in all the basement-rooms you might hear during 
study hours the wail of much-practised fiddles? Never 
mind, fiddle-practising is not particularly pleasant for 
the listeners, but if you could have heard our beautiful 
orchestra in chapel last Easter and Thursday morning of 
Commencement week you would not have objected to 
listening to any amount of practising. We are proud of 
our violins and we feel that we have every right to be. 

For several years the school has been growing more and 
more interested in Science work and this year our labora- 
tory has been greatly enlarged and refurnished. We are 
making good use of our two fine compound microscopes, 
and the class in Biology will do excellent work during the 
winter. The small children, to say nothing of the large 
ones, are intensely interested in bug and reptile-hunting, 
and the other day one of the teachers was horrified to dis- 
cover a small scorpion disporting himself upon her table. 
"One of the girls brought that to Miss Slater" was how- 
ever an all-sufficient excuse. But indeed it seems to us 
poor ignorant ones as if Miss Slater had already in her 


large and beautifully mounted collection every possible 
variety of bee, moth, ant, butterfly, bug, and so forth. We 
have four hundred microscopical slides, ranging from those 
that show the wonderful creatures that live in a drop of 
water to the histological mounts of the human body. Then 
we have for our art-class a fine stereopticon with a hun- 
dred slides of all the master-pieces of painting, and we 
have passed several pleasant evenings looking at the beau- 
tiful pictures. 

By the way, the art-class is doing exquisite work in 
water-colors and original designs ; and if you should hap- 
pen to go to the State Fair you will see a. fine collection of 
our pictures and designs. But not only will the art-depart- 
ment be represented at the Fair. We shall have specimens 
of all kinds of work in Literature, History, English, 
Science and Mathematics. We are trying hard to make 
our exhibit interesting and representative, and, although 
we are modest, we believe that we shall succeed. 

One feature of our school course this year, which we all 
especially like, is the Wednesday work. Then we poor 
seniors, who were a trifle stupid about arithmetic, have the 
opportunity of learning, with the juniors, the practicalities 
of buying and selling, interest, measuring rooms, air, and 
so on. We understand why we should know how much 
carpet to buy for our parlor, and we certainly don't wish to 
be like the woman who, when asked what she should do if 
eggs were 16^ cents a dozen, answered, " I should never buy 
eggs at any such ridiculous price," but sometimes we should 
like to know why it is necessary for us to dig ditches and 
excavate wells. Then most charming of all we have, too, 
on Wednesdays, lectures on geography and zoology. Miss 
McVea lectures on geography in the morning and Miss 
Slater on zoology in the afternoon. Our geography does 
not begin as the old timey ones did, " The earth is round 
and shaped like a ball "; we have had interesting talks on 


the nebula? theory and the geological periods of the earth's 
history, and we are coming gradually from the origin of 
our planet to the climate, physical features, industries, cus- 
toms, religions first of our own country and then of the 
other countries of the world. 

The lectures on zoology are simply charming. Never 
before did we realize how stupid man is in comparison with 
ants and bees! 

Now perhaps you long-absent friends might like to know 
a little of our amusements and recreations. We still have 
the same All Halloween festivities, and all of us, little and 
big, are already looking forward to the 31st of October, 
when we shall "bob" for apples, try our fortunes, eat as 
much candy as we want and have a good time generally. 
This is also the great opportunity for the girls to show their 
histrionic powers and we have had several most creditable 
plays given on All Halloween. Great secrecy is required, 
however, of those who take part, and so we don't know yet 
what the play for this year will be. Ever} 7 eveniqg during 
recreation hour we dance as usual, and about four times a 
year we have an elaborate "German," led usually by Miss 
Slater and one of the senior girls. The Germans are very 
pretty and very pleasant, too, and often Mrs. Smedes sur- 
prises us with one of her delightful chicken salad suppers. 
Then in the afternoons we have tennis or some of the 
teachers will take us for a long walk in the country. This 
fall the air has been so delicious that we could scarcely 
walk enough. Lately we have had a new and altogether 
charming treat. Miss Such, our singing teacher, has a 
beautiful voice, and she is as good as possible about sing- 
ing for us; we are only afraid we may wear her out by our 
constant requests for songs in the evening. Next Monday 
night we are all going to hear Rhea in Marie Stuart, and 
soon after that the first of a series of musical evenings will 
be given at the hall. 


During the past year one of the most important events 
in the history of St. Mary's has taken place. Our beloved 
school, which for more than fifty years has been carried on 
by the unassisted and faithful efforts of two men, Dr. 
Aldert Smedes and his son, the present Rector, was made 
a part of the regular work of the Church in North Caro- 
lina. It will soon be an incorporated institution and we 
feel that this will be an advantage in many ways. Liberal 
Churchmen will, we are sure, be glad to aid in endowing 
this school which is such an invaluable aid to the Church 
in North Carolina. Until the present time it was not alto- 
gether a simple matter to leave or give money to the school 
on account of certain legal technicalities which make it 
difficult to bestow any considerable sums upon incorporated 
institutions. Now of course that difficulty is entirely 
removed. The best aid that our Church receives, whether 
in Parish or Missionary work, is from the men and women 
who have been trained in Church schools. Now, all 
denominations, realizing the importance of early training, 
are making strenuous efforts to build and endow schools 
and colleges all over the country, because they know that 
without endowment no private school can stand the com- 
petition with the various public institutions. Our Church 
people cannot afford to be behind any others in this matter 
of education, and surely no school North or South is more 
deserving of confidence and substantial aid than is St. 
Mary's. For over half a century it has done a noble work 
for the Church in the South, and in many States hundreds 
of noble women bless the holy influence of this their Alma 
Mater. Notwithstanding almost insurmountable obstacles 
St. Mary's has kept abreast in methods and in appliances 
with the best educational thought of the times, and to-day 
she stands as one of the most thorough College Preparatory 
Schools in the country. 



We regret that Mary Pride Jones' Essay did not reach 
us in time for publication. It will appear in the June 
number of the Muse. 

It was good to see Kathleen Bryan again in her old place 
in the senior dormitory, even though it was only for a day 
and night, on her way to New Berne after a summer in 
the mountains. 

" Miss Katie " is still Secretary and Treasurer of " The 
Society " and of the Alumnse. She annually resigns and 
is annually re-elected by a unanimous and clamorous vote. 
Dear Miss Katie! 

We had the pleasure of a glimpse of Mrs. McLean, who 
looked in upon us while we were in study-hour last week. 
We have heard many expressions of regret that her visit 
to Raleigh was so short. 

We send our best wishes to Lucile Murchison and Mary 
Bridgers, who are in Baltimore, at Madame Lefevre's, and 
to Lulie Hawkins, Floreda Settle and Isabel Busbee, who 
are at school in Washington. 

Bessie Barnes brought her two sisters to school this fall, 
and she is now in Raleigh on a visit. We hope she will 
remain a long time and come often to St. Mary's. It is 
always a pleasure to see her. 

The best time of all the week is Sunday evening after 
tea when Miss Such sings for us. Her voice is beautiful 
always, but we think we like it best in " Consider the 
Lilies " and in " The Holy City." 

Mrs. McVea and Etta are enjoying "Woman's Suffrage " 
in Denver. They have voted several local tickets and will 
vote for the President in November. We feel sure they will 
vote the right ticket (whatever that may be (?) ) 


Addie Riddick of the Class of '89 (Miss Riddick we 
should say now) is a new member of the Faculty. Teach- 
ers and girls are alike delighted. Miss Riddick is one of 
St. Mary's true daughters and St. Mary's appreciates her 

Dr. Smedes looks just the same. The passing years 
have wrought no change but to make him dearer to the 
hearts of his pupils. His picture, which will appear in 
the next edition of the Muse, will be welcomed gladly by 
all St. Mary's girls. 

Mrs. Lanier and Miriam are to be with us during the 
Fair. We are delighted, and are "saving up" things to 
tell them, for we are sure, from last year's experience, of 
their ever-ready sympathy and interest both in our pleas- 
ures and in our troubles. 

We are looking forward to a visit from Mrs. Meserole 
("Miss Carter") this month. We who remember "Miss 
Carter " can never think of her but with the feeling that 
it has been a privilege to know her and to feel the sweet 
influence of her character. 

We cannot sufficiently regret that Adele Martiniere 
made her visit to Raleigh during the summer vacation, so 
that we did not see her. We are glad to hear, however, 
that though her curls are gone, and she wears long dresses, 
she is the same charming little Adele. 

We regret that lack of space in this number forbids us 
entering into detail concerning the excellent work some old 
St. Mary's girls are accomplishing in their several lines. 
However, w r e cannot forbear mentioning Mary Johnson's 
beautiful violin playing, " Jimmie " Dunlop's painting and 
Kate Cheshire's exquisite wood carving. We are much 
indebted to Kate for the loan of carved panels and some 
lovely etchings for our exhibit at the Fair. Those who 
see her work cannot fail to admire it. 


The goats, "William the Great," "William the Less," 
and "Little Billee," are still alive and well, but they feel, 
since the children have forsaken them for the horses that 
their life-work is over and the remainder of their days is to 
be spent in resting and in eating all the rose-bushes and 
honeysuckle vines they can possibly reach. 

All our friends will unite with us in welcoming Miss 
Slater back to St. Mary's. She has had a happy, bus} 7 , and 
successful year at Cornell, and has returned so bubbling 
over with knowledge and energy that she rouses even the 
least ambitious of us to feel there is much to be learned and 
no time to be lost. Indeed it is an inspiration to look at her! 

We thought Miss Czarnomska knew everything long 
ago, but we hear she has resumed the chair of Literature 
at Smith College, after a delightful summer abroad at the 
University of Gottingen, where she has been studying for 
the degree of Ph. D. We hope she is not too busy to feel 
an interest in the Muse, which has not forgotten how much 
it owes to her. 

Their many friends at St. Mary's send through the 
Muse loving remembrances to Miss Stone, Miss Devereux, 
and Miss Tappan, who were with us last year. Miss Stone 
is taking a rest at her home in Saxonville, Mass.; Miss 
Devereux has a school of her own in Raleigh, and Miss 
Tappan teaches Science and is General Assistant at the State 
Normal School, Oneonta, New York. 

The " tourists" (Miss Shipp, Mrs. McBee, and Mr. 
Mack), report a most enjoyable summer abroad. We have 
had such good times listening to Miss Shipp's and Mrs. 
McBee's account of their trip. Mr. Mack entertained the 
Faculty one evening with a talk about the Bayreuth Fes- 
tival. We have that pleasure in store (we hope) and the 
music class has been promised a study of the Wagner 
Operas this winter. 


Everybody's sister is here this year, and there is a 
strong family likeness, so there was hardly any need for 
introductions at the opening. The old girls went about 
exclaiming, "Why, this is Beck's sister," "This is Louella's 
sister," " Howdy do! I am sure this is Nannie's sister," etc. 

Anna Dunlop ("Jimmie") surprised us with a very 
welcome visit last year. The boyish "Jimmie" has devel- 
oped into a dignified, womanly woman, and her talent for 
drawing has developed, too; she has been for several years 
a member of the Art League in New York, and now her 
dream is realized and she is studying in Paris. She writes 
charming accounts of her work and of her quaint expe- 
riences. We may publish some of her letters in the next 

Annie Kidder writes from Berlin, September 20th: "I 
feel rather home-sick to-day, for it is just a year since I 
became a St. Mary's girl, and I will always have the most 
loving recollections of that year as being one of the hap- 
piest of my life. I do not know whether we shall spend 
the winter here or in Paris or in Dresden ; but wherever I 
may be, you may be sure I carry with me the most loving 
thoughts of St. Mary's and of my friends there." A happy, 
happy winter to you, Annie. We shall look forward to 
your return to us next fall, for we miss you sadly. 

Annie Moore, our Valedictorian of '90, was graduated 
last year from Vassar College. In a class of one hundred 
and twenty she was an honor girl, and was one of the five 
selected to read a thesis. One year she stood entirely on 
her examinations, having no term marks to help her, as 
she had made up the work while teaching here at St. Mary's. 
She won the Wood's Holl scholarship last summer and she 
has the scholarship in biology this year. All this — and 
we are not surprised — for we always knew Annie could do 
anything she chose to do. 


We hear that the " Hodgson Sostenuto" has been put 
in the organs of the leading churches in New York and 
Boston. Those who know say it is a great invention and 
a wonderful advance in the art of Organ-playing. We 
offer our hearty congratulations, Mr. Hodgson. 

Miss McVea is to have a cooking-school. She is in her 

element as much in the kitchen as in the library. We who 

know how delightfully she leads through literary paths, 

confidently give ourselves up to her guidance through the 

mazes of the culinary art. 

"We may live without poetry, music and art, 
We may live without conscience and live without heart, 
We may live without friends, we may live without books, 
But civilized man cannot live without cooks." 

"The Ravs are coming!" This is an announcement 

usually made the latter part of October, and never fails to 

bring a glad expression to every face at St. Mary's, and it 

means that Alice and Jennie Ravenel, our dear Charleston 

twins, are coming to make their annual visit to their Alma 

Mater. When they first arrive new girls rashly imagine 

that they can learn to tell the twins apart, but we old girls 

know better, and realize the baby-wisdom of the Smedes 

twins in calling them both "Jinnie-Alice." We wonder 

if " the Ravs" have any idea how glad we are to see them 

come and how very sorry to see them go. 

Rumor says that Mrs. Iredell is coming back to Raleigh 
to live. Twenty-five years of loving work at St. Mary's 
has endeared her to many, many St. Mary's girls all over 
the country, and they feel they owe to her more than the}' 
can ever express. When her actual work for the school 
seemed at an end, she was called upon to render it yet 
another service, and all know how she responded to the 
call, and how eloquently she spoke in its behalf, before the 
Convention at Charlotte last spring, so that every one felt 
St. Mary's could not have chosen a more fitting represen- 


tative. St. Mary's girls who do not know her ought to, 
and we are pleased that they are to have the opportunity 
this year. We hope to see her often when she comes to 
Raleigh; at any rate, we will know and feel that she is 
near, and that is a comfort. 

The bicycle craze has attacked the Faculty and the 
secluded path from the kitchen to the infirmary has recently 
been the scene of valiant and persistent efforts which might 
serve as an example for us in our school work. The twins 
lent their aid, and though their method seemed to the 
victim rather severe (after the approved manner of teach- 
ing swimming), still the results were excellent, and now as 
soon as the suits are ready and the wheels come the Faculty 
will venture into the street. We girls with bicycles are 
very glad, for we hope they may take us for some long- 
rides. The grove is large enough for ordinary purposes, 
but fails to satisfy the longings of a wheel-woman. 

Mrs. Gillette (Emma Pearley), who was at St. Mary's 
in '56, made us a short visit last spring on her way from 
Florida, where she had been spending the winter, to her 
home in Chicago. It had been her cherished wish for 
years to see her Alma Mater once more, and the influence 
of the dear old place made her a girl again. She told us 
many interesting stories of her school-days, when our Rector 
was quite a boy and not altogether as dignified as he is now. 
She was not satisfied until she had been through all the 
rooms in all the buildings from the kitchen to the up-stairs 
dormitories, noting the changes since her day; and during 
recreation-hour in the evening it was delightful to dance 
to the same inspiring music which she used to play for 
St. Mary's girls forty years ago. 

It is hard to believe that "Runt Harvey' 1 is only a 
dog! The twins would resent such an idea, and "Runt," 
like many another, whatever his real nature may be, tries 


to live up to his friends' belief in him. He listens attent- 
ively with his head on one side and his hair in his eyes, 
when matters of moment are explained to him, he will 
climb a ladder when he is told, though he does not care 
for it, but he does like an out-door life of excitement and 
adventure, and he wears his most beatific expression when 
seated in the buggy between the twins, ready for an after- 
noon drive. What he can't do — is ride horse-back, so he 
stays at home and looks wistful when Mary and Helen 
gallop off on the ponies. But then he has never had les- 
sons — and he is not so old that he cannot learn! He cele- 
brated his third birthday not long ago and had many 
tokens from friends and admirers, among other things the 
conventional birthday cake, with three lighted candles. 
He received in the children's dining-room, stood up and 
shook hands with his guests with a patience and dignity 
of demeanor which would have done credit to The Four 

Miss Battle spent her vacation at her home in Tarboro 
and at her brother's in Asheville. Some of us saw her 
during the summer and were with her; those of us who 
had not that pleasure were very envious of the more for- 
tuuate ones, and demanded of them a repetition of every 
word she said. Miss Battle left St. Mary's last }^ear to take 
charge of the department of mathematics in Dr. Sachs' 
School for Girls in New York City. In a short time she 
won from Dr. Sachs and from all connected with the school 
that high respect and admiration which her intellect and 
personality never fail to command. Dr.- Sachs has given 
the strongest evidence of his appreciation of her worth in 
his determination to keep her in New York this year, and 
she begins her work this fall with bright prospects. We 
congratulate her on her success and we are very proud of her, 
but we can't rejoice as much as we should because we want 


her too. We know you have a large circle of friends, as you 
will have wherever you go, but, clear Miss Battle, we feel 
that you belong to us, for we love you best. Your desk is 
here and your cat, and we will not believe that you have 
gone from St. Mary's forever. 



We are all very busy in our beautiful studio just now T , 
painting in oils and in water-colors, sketching, drawing 
from casts and from life, and making " time sketches," 
and in our spare moments we have even begun to think 
and plan our Christmas presents. To a Northern friend 
an "Uncle Remus card," arriving through the mail some 
cold Christmas Eve, will bring many happy recollections 
of the hours spent "'Way down South in Dixie." The 
black old man in the corner surrounded by the cotton will 
remind him of the days on the plantation when he 
watched the "darkies" pick the cotton or listened to the 
plantation songs at the corn-shucking, and will make him 
long for the " days that are no more." 

Another invention of the water-colorist is the inimitable 
painted blotter, which is always acceptable and quite pretty ; 
the wall-pocket for letters, or the picture-frame designed in 
"nodding violets" or bewitching daisies, each of which, 
although simple, requires the touch of a real artist. Have 
you ever compared the work of a true artist with that of a 
mere copyist? If you have, you will see that the latter, 
although it may be perfectly executed, lacks the originality 
of the work of the real artist, which has about it something 
peculiarly his own, certain characteristics which are dis- 


tinguishable in all his paintings and by which he is known. 
Take, for instance, a house painted from Nature. In the 
work of the copyist we see a bare cottage of no particular 
color surrounded by grass, a tree here and there and a path 
leading to the door. Perfectly true to Nature, one can 
easily recognize the house, but lacking the life which the 
work of the artist possesses. The artist idealizes. His 
house is of brown, with a touch of red now and then; 
his trees and grass are green, but not wholly green — he 
puts here a daub of blue, there of yellow; his path is not 
a waste of sand, but has sprigs of grass in it or rocks: 
he finds color everywhere, color which entirely escapes the 
untrained eye, but which gives to the picture the anima- 
tion of Nature. 

Among our most difficult problems of Art at St.' Mary's 
are the Original Applied Designs. Original Design! The 
very name frightens us! But when we come to work it 
out we find it is not so bad as one might think. The 
design does not have to be made entirely from airv noth- 
inguess, mixed with a fertile brain, as one might suppose 
from the name, but an idea may be gotten from books or 
art magazines or the works of contemporary labourers, 
provided that the student gets only an idea. The result of 
intricate weaving of lines and varied geometrical measure- 
ments may be a design for hearth-tiles or oil-cloth; then 
comes the task of following out the lines with the various 
colors, a task which is fully paid for in the end when one 
sees with the eyes of imagination her design in use. Very 
pretty wall-paper may be made from our designs, dimities, 
carpets, iron fences, brass knockers or triumphal gates. 

In the oil department the students spend most of their 
time on still-life groups or landscapes; while in the depart- 
ment of charcoal the casts of heads, hands and feet are 
decidedly the most difficult if not the most interesting sub- 
jects for the student in chiaroscura. In china-painting the 


Dresden patterns are pretty and quite popular witli the 
dainty-loving public, but the newest thing, the very " latest 
fad " for decorating china, is the Delft work. A plate, 
pitcher, jar, jug, anything made of china is ornamented 
with a little Dutch scene, which would be incomplete with- 
out the necessary wind-mill — and this scene, in order to be 
fashionable, must be done in blue monochrone. 

From our own little studio at St. Mary's we turn to the 
famous great foreign and American galleries of art. 

The art circle of England is at present in a state of un- 
certainty as to the future president of the Royal Academy. 
It will indeed be difficult to find a successor worthy of the 
two late presidents: Sir Frederick Leighton and Sir John 
Millais. The works of Lord Leighton are especially admired 
by both the English and American picture-loving public; 
his "Day Dreams," "Wedded," and "Summer Moon " are 
very popular, while the " Princes in the Tower" and the 
" Huguenot Lovers" of Sir John Malais will always be favor- 
ites. The honor of the presidency of the Royal Academy 
lies now between seven men: Burne-Jones, Alma Tadema, 
Princeps and others, some of whom may be barred from the 
acceptance of it by their foreign birth. 

Among the works of the French artists the latest con- 
ception of Joan of Arc, that favorite of artists, by Bastien- 
Lepage, is one of the most interesting. Lepage is the 
peasant painter. Born in the very province that Joan of 
Arc lived in, he is especially attached to her. He shows 
her not as the commanding officer mounted on a magnifi- 
cent charger, but as the peasant girl of Domremy, dream- 
ing of the work she is to accomplish. In the background 
we see the vision which appears to her, the figure of Saint 
Michael urging her on to the duty which she must perform. 
With Bastien-Lepage we always associate Marie Bashkirt- 
seff, that most quaint and peculiar authoress and painter, 


and lament to think what might have been given to the 
world had not the genius of these two youthful artists been 
so early blighted. 

Our own country is well represented in the art world 
by the numerous fine galleries she possesses: the Metro- 
politan Museum in New York, the Academy of Fine Arts 
in Philadelphia, the Corcoran Art Gallery in Washington, 
the Peabody and Walter's Galleries in Baltimore are worthy 
imitators of the great art galleries abroad. 

Those of us who visited the World's Columbian Expo- 
sition remember with pleasure the wonderful things we 
there saw. The marvellous sculpture was a special feature 
of this great Fair. One piece of work that made a strik- 
ing impression upon me was the head of a woman with a 
veil drawn over her face, so exquisitely chiseled that the 
marble features could be distinctly seen within. Who that 
has once seen the true, exquisite pictures of Bougerean, the 
" Wasps' Nest," " Woman at the Tomb," and his Madonna 
can ever forget them? The latter reminds one forcibly of 
those glorious old masters of the Italian school, painters 
who may once in a century be paralleled, but who will 
never be surpassed. Altogether it is difficult to overesti- 
mate the value of the World's Columbian Exposition as a 
factor in the growth of the art feeling in America. 


"St. Mary's Alumna? Association" was organized in the 
'80's, by Mrs. Kate deR. Meares, who was then Lady-Prin- 
cipal of the school. 

The object of the Association is to found a scholarship at 
St. Mary's, in honor of Dr. Aldert Smedes, founder and, for 
thirty -six years, rector, of the school. 


At first the funds of the Association were used to defray, 
in part, each year, the expenses, at St. Mary's, of a daugh- 
ter of some former pupil. In later years, however, it was 
decided to put at interest all money received until the de- 
sired amount $2,500 should be obtained. At present, the 
amount in bank and in sight is between $1,200 and $1,300. 

In 1892, in honor of St. Mary's Semi-centennial, the 
daughters of our school assembled in Raleigh to do honor 
to their Alma Mater. The "Jubilee week" was marked 
by many very pleasant social events both at St. Mary's and 
among the Alumna? in Raleigh, and all present returned to 
their homes refreshed by the renewal of former friendships 
and associations. On All Saints' Day of the same year a 
handsome brass lectern was placed by the Alumna}, as a 
memorial to Dr. Aldert Smedes, in St. Mary's Chapel. 

The meetings of the Alumnae are held annually at St. 
Mary's during "Commencement" week in June. At the 
meeting for '96 it was proposed that each member have a 
mite-box and send its contents with the annual fee ($1) to 
the Treasurer next June. The present officers are Mrs. T. 
C. Harris, Raleigh, President; Miss Kate McKimmon, St. 
Mary's, Raleigh, Secretary and Treasurer, and ten Vice- 
Presidents, chosen from the different towns in the State. 




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RALEIGH, N. C, JUNE, 1897. 



Verses (O Brain, Thick-crowded), ) .,. '„ 

m n v - > — Minna C. Byniim 1, 2 

The Silence of the Night, ( 

The Work of Two Women — Na?mie G. Clark 3 

Greetings and Farewells— Mary M. Hanff 8 

Formative Power of Nature-study — Lily E. Koonce 14 

The Boy in Fiction — Theodora Marshall— -- 19 

Le Drame de L'Espagne et de la France— Isabella W. Pescud-- 26 

The Prince of Poets— Mary P. Jones 28 

What a North Carolina Girl Saw in the West — Henrietta S. 

McVea 34 

The Land of the Chrysanthemum— Margaret V. Hill — 43 

In Honor ot? TASSO—Loula Hall Briggs , 48 

A Peep into Our Work-room — Frances V. Womble 53 

The Education of Women — Christiana Busbee 56 

The Education of Women— Annie Shaw 59 

An Idyl of School-life — Annie K. Barnes 61 

Editorial --'- --- 63 


Raleigh, N. C. 

Entered at the Post-office in Raleign at Second-class Rates. 


RALEIGH, N r . C, JUNE, 1897. 


O brain, thick-crowded with your throbbing thoughts, 
which yearn 

For utterance in vain; 
Mere words cannot express the inexpressible, 

O burning brain! 

hands which tingle music to your wistful finger-tips, 

Yet cannot make it here, 
The silence of the everlasting hills is song, 

And yours, my dear! 

O eyes that see great pictures of what others cannot see, 

Yet cannot make them known; 
They are but faint reflections of the great Original, 

And not your own. 

voice that knows the wildness of the tongue within 
the heart, 
And yet is tame; 
Where there is no speech nor language, God hears the 
voices still, 
And yours the same! 

thou soul so full of beauty wrought into thy life, be 
Thy work is done, 
And, wing-like, thou hast raised thy cloud-high wishes 
And reached the sun! 




► BY M. C. BYNUM). 

In the silent night do the stars move round 

Through the heaven in silent pow'r; 
And I heard a murmuring, tinkling sound 

Through the hush of the midnight hour. 
'Twas not a rustling among the leaves, 

Nor nightingale's song from the shore. 
I hark from the depths of my soul which heaves 

To the music ne'er heard before. 


Oh! it seemed as if there were ringing 

From the rocks a flute-like quiver, 
As though the sirens their charms were singing 

From the ripples of the river, 
As field and meadows were dreamily locked, 

Soft sighing in slumber's sweet snare, 
Like a half-asleep child who is tenderly rocked, 

Still lisping its evening prayer. 


As if the moon in her silvery bark 

Sang a melody soft and light, 
Or stars were whispering unseen in the dark 

In a thousand tongues through the night; 
As if all the light-winged choir of Dreams 

Descended the heavenly steep, 
Sang elfin songs and melodious gleams 

In the ears of mortals asleep. 



Oh nature! that is thy beautiful song, 

Thy night-hymn of peace in the air, 
Which clear as an organ-note floats along 

Through the universe like a prayer. 
And when mortals hear the song float aloft 

The spirit with kindness doth fill, 
And its sorrow changes to sadness soft, 

Its anguish to hopefulness still. 

Sound on thou melody soft and low, 

Angel voices so clear and pure, 
Like healing pine-balm gently flow 

Over crushed, bleeding spirits to cure, 
Where a soul all bereaved of its loved ones, 

Watches in sorrowful plight, 
Bid it in tenderest, exquisite tones, 

A lovingly, tender "good-night." 


At the beginning of this century any woman who was 
bold enough to brave the opinions and customs of her time 
in order to take up a literary career was regarded with 
contempt and looked upon even by other women as a dis- 
grace to her sex. 

Both Jane Austen and Maria Edgeworth concealed their 
identity for fear of the verdict of the world. But in the 
last thirty years the influence of women has succeeded in 
broadening the minds of men sufficiently to force them to 
recognize the fact that genius is genius, even when found 
in a woman. 


In this noble work two of our greatest women have 
played a prominent part. Elizabeth Stuart Phelps and 
Mrs. Humphry Ward have made literature their life-work, 
and have succeeded in raising the ideals of women as well 
as the opinions which the world held of them. Although 
the days of the "Higher Education of Women" had not 
then come, Mrs. Humphry Ward, on account of her 
father's position as professor in various colleges, received 
an education equal, if not superior, to that of the cleverest 
men of her time. She comes of a long line of educated, 
literary people, and the culture and learning of a grand- 
daughter of Dr. Arnold of Rugby and a neice of Matthew 
Arnold could almost be taken for granted. 

Mrs. Humphry Ward has been frequently compared to 
George Eliot, on account of the co-called masculinity of 
her treatment; but while her characters are exquisitely 
finished portraits they lack the living, breathing humanity 
of George Eliot's. The latter belonged to the people of 
whom she wrote. Dinah was her aunt, Adam Bede was 
her father. She shared their daily life, and so Adam Bede 
stands among us a stalwart carpenter whom we know and 

Mrs. Humphry Ward never lived among the lower class, 
hence she is unable truly to represent them, she portrays 
them as they appear to the deeply interested but highly 
educated of the upper circles. Elizabeth Stuart Phelps, 
though not from among their ranks, for many years lived 
among the Gloucester fishermen, and knew them as they 
were; therefore she gives us true portraits of such men as 
Job Slip and Jack. 

Although in calm study and weighing of human nature 
and in the perfect polish of her English, Mrs. Humphry 
Ward is superior to Elizabeth Stuart Phelps, yet the latter 
has given us characters instinct with the life which is lack- 
ing in those of Mrs. Humphry Ward. 


The sense of humor also is wanting in the works of Mrs. 
Humphry Ward and almost entirely so in those of Eliza- 
beth Stuart Phelps: indeed the only scene into which the 
latter has thrown the slightest humor is that in "A Singu- 
lar Life," in which the two B's and the one C take tea 
with the Professor. In strong contrast to both of these 
we have George Eliot. Every one knows "Mrs. Poy- 
ser" and her delicious sayings, and will agree with her 
that "it's all very fine having a ready-made rich man, but 
may happen he'll be a ready-made fool"; and also with 
this: "There's no pleasure in living, if you're to be corked 
up forever, and only dribble your mind out b} T the sly, like 
a leaky barrel." Can any one ever forget the Dodson sis- 
ters? Aunt Pullet with her "eternal ailments and her 
equally eternal pills and powders? Mrs. Tulliver with her 
weak wailings and her adoration of her blue china? Aunt 
Glegg, who always wondered at you, and who read Baxter's 
"Saints' Everlasting Rest" on special occasions, "on wet 
Sunday mornings, or when she heard of a death in the 
family, or when her quarrel with Mr. Glegg had been 
set an octave higher than usual." 

Mrs. Humphry Ward began her work at a much later 
period of her life than did Elizabeth Stuart Phelps, and 
her works are consequentl}' more mature and more finely 
developed than those of the American writer. They are 
properly constructed, evidently at the expense of infinite 
pains; their characteristics are diligently elaborated; they 
are all finely made — but they are evidently made — the) 7 do 
not live. We admire them as creations but we do not love 
them as people. 

When Marcella began her socialistic work she was young 
and, like every inexperienced person, thought she could 
reform the world by one act of Parliament. She, like 
others of Mrs. Humphry Ward's characters, was governed 
entirely by intellectual impulses. 


The artistic perfection of Elizabeth Stuart Phelps is 
marred by a sentimentality in her choice of words, as is 
its strength by the morbidness of much of the thinking; 
however, she is mistress of great pathos and vivid descrip- 
tive power. Her fine dramatic force is shown in "The 
Story of Avis," and also in "Jack the Fisherman." The 
former story, while morbid and full of crudities and eccen- 
tricities, is essentially a woman's story, and was intended 
as such by Miss Phelps, who said of it that though she 
recognized its faults, she was sure of obtaining pardon for 
them because of its entire womanliness. Avis in many 
respects is somewhat like Marcella, a highly organized 
artistic nature struggling with the commonplaceness of 
life. The struggle began in early childhood. When Avis's 
aunt told her father, "I should like to have your little 
daughter love me; but I am afraid she never will," the 
Professor found that the trouble was "nothing very new," 
but "the same old story." "Avis, don't you love your 
Aunt Chloe?" "Why, yes!" said Avis, with wide eyes. 
"I like Aunt Chloe. It isn't Aunt Chloe that I hate." 

"What do you hate?" 

Her father looked at her across the great black Logic, as 
a depressed garrison might look at the progress of an 
enemy whose movements it was utterly unable to forecast. 

"Aunt Chloe says it's unlady-like to hate," said Avis. 
"If it is, then I'd rather not be a lady. There are other 
people in the world than ladies. And I hate to make my bed; 
and I hate, hate, to sew; and I hate, hate, hate, to go cook- 
ing round the kitchen. It makes a crawling go down my 
back to sew. But the crawling comes from hating; the 
more I hate, the more I crawl. And mamma never cooked 
about the kitchen. I think that is a servant's work. I'm 
very ugly to Aunt Chloe sometimes, papa. And then I'm 
sorry. But I don't tell her unless I think of it. On the 


whole, papa," added the child gravely, "I have so many 
sorrows in this world that I don't care to live." 

But the two women, Marcella and Avis, alike in their 
struggles and ambitions, had very different lives. Avis's 
life was wrecked by an unhappy marriage, but perhaps if 
Miss Phelps had written this after her own marriage she 
would have seen that the statement which "Avis" made 
when she said: "Life is behind me too. It was before my 
marriage that I painted the sphinx," is false, and that 
women can at the same time fulfil their duties as artists 
.and still pursue their home work. Marcella was blessed 
with a happy married life, in which many of her dreams 
were realized. 

Mrs. Humphry Ward is the more cultivated woman of 
the two, and in her culture she resembles George Eliot; 
but the learning is almost too apparent. We are interested 
in "Sir George Tressady," and we realize that "Marcella" 
has developed into a far finer woman than we had hoped 
for, but we grow rather weary of committees, reports, bills, 
and elections, in fact the whole detail business of Parlia- 

The different ways in which the two women would 
reform the world is very apparent in "Sir George Tres- 
sady" and in "A Singular Life." 

Both Elizabeth Stuart Phelps and Mrs. Humphry Ward 
have dealt with the great problem of suffering humanity, 
bringing to bear upon the subject a clearer insight and a 
deeper feeling for human nature than any man could 
possess. Taking " Marcella " as the best example of Mrs. 
Humphry Ward's work in the line of social reform and 
"A Singular Life" as the most perfect work of Elizabeth 
Stuart Phelps, one finds the motive of the former to be 
philanthropy, using Parliamentary Reform as a means to 
a great end. This work shows scholarly thought, deep 
research, and the womanly instinct in aiding her fellow- 


creatures; but oue does not find the deep religious fervor 
of Miss Phelps or the young enthusiasm which so appeals 
to our hearts. Elizabeth Stuart Phelps works mainly from 
a religious stand-point, using the gentlest and most loving 
means to accomplish her designs. 

Mrs. Humphry Ward's power lies chiefly in the ability 
to draw a calm, middle-class character, and Elizabeth 
Stuart Phelps can best develop the more elevated and 
spiritual natures. 

These two women, alike in their desire to help mankind, 
differing only in their points of view, have done much to 
arouse our interest in the struggling poor and to suggest 
practical methods for their relief. Men and women in 
England and America thank them not only for their earn- 
est effort but also for what they have accomplished for 

literature and for humanity. 

Nannie G. Clark. 


All nations, even savages and barbarians, have their 
peculiar forms of salutations, for men are social animals, 
and do not wish to pass each other unseen and unheard. 
They naturally like to express in some way their good-will, 
and the expression of this good-will has given rise to the 
various forms of their salutations. 

These forms are numerous, for we have not only the 
words of salute but the conventional gestures and many 
"Nods and becks, and wreathed smiles." Many scientists 
have contended that the kiss is an instinctive gesture, but 
this is not the case, for it is unknown to a large part of the 
world, where the prevailing salute is that commonly called 
by travellers rubbing noses. Much fun has been poked at 


this primitive custom, but it is really no more comical to 
rub noses than to embrace or shake hands, everything 
depends upon one's point of view. This rubbing noses 
though not used in the highly civilized countries still 
belongs to the Malays, Indo-Chinese, to the Eskimos, and 
to the Laps. 

Every Japanese is a great stickler for the niceties of 
etiquette, and shows his various shades of respect by the 
lowness of his bow. To an exalted superior he abases 
himself to the ground; no sign of submission is too hum- 
ble for him. To one somewhat above him he makes a 
respectful salaam; to his equal he gives a polite bow; to 
one slightly inferior, a stiff and trifling inclination of the 
head. In Japan one has no doubt at all as to the social 
standing of those about him. 

The European bow is interesting from its having been 
given mutually by the two saluters, each making the sign 
of submission to the other, which must have been absurd 
until it passed into mere civility. The bow in Europe, as 
well as in America, varies from the courtesy to the slight- 
est inclination of the head. The courtesy however is con- 
sidered a little antiquated. We look upon it as a relic of 
"ye olden times," and call to the mind in connection with 
it Lady Washington and the stately minuet. These were 
the days when the dancing-master flourished, for it needed 
a "Model of Deportment" such as Mr. Turveydrop to teach 
a complicated affair like a courtesy. 

The most popular of the civilized salutations is that 
variety called in English "shaking hands." Hand-grasp- 
ing is a gesture which makes its appearance in antiquity 
as a legal act symbolic of the parties joining in compact, 
peace or friendship. This is seen in marriage; the hand- 
grasp was a part of the ancient Hindu ceremony, and has 
passed on into the Christian rite. But the idea of compart 
soon passed into mere salutation, and in this form became 


usual during the Middle Ages. The English traders and 
missionaries of late years have introduced hand-shaking 
far and wide, so that even such rude people as the Eskimo 
and Friegian now unite with us in practising this modern 
civilized custom. 

The digital arrangements with reference to our custom 
of "shaking hauds" are many and varied. First, there is 
the one-finger variety — this is significant of extreme con- 
descension and high mightiness. When an exalted indi- 
vidual permits you his forefinger he distinctly says you 
must not presume on the slightest familiarity. You are in 
the presence of Augustus, and the delicate little ceremony 
is to impress you with the important fact. 

Then there is the two-finger variety. This is condescen- 
sion also, but of a milder type. It is leavened with a 
touch of kindness, still you must not presume. This 
variety is much affected by aged parsons to their parish- 
oners and other dependents, old uncles to their nephews 
and neices. 

Captain Marryat gives us an illustration of these two 
varieties in his "Peter Simple." When Lord Privilege 
shook hands with his son, with whom he was not on good 
terms, he gave him two fingers, and to Peter he gave only 
one, for Peter was a child, and the child of a son who had 
gone against his father's wishes. 

The third-finger hand-shake adds an increment of favor, 
condescension having almost vanished, but not quite. 
The finger hand-shakes were used almost altogether by the 
court ladies, and are still used to some extent. 

Every one will agree that the hand-shake is an index of 
character. Much depends upon the vitality of the touch in 
the hand-shake, whether alive, hearty and conscious or 
flabby. If the first, it may be trusted; if the last, trust it 
not. Talking of flabby hand-shaking seems slightly con- 


tradictory, for no possible shake, not to say shock, can 
come out of such a salute. In perfection the flabby sort 
consists of all four Angers laid flatly together and held 
forth with about the same amount of significance as the 
paw of a rabbit or the fin of a sea-dog. The correct way 
of meeting this variety is by accepting it in precisely the 
same manner. Two flat four-fingered fins thus meeting- 
each other must be thrilling in the extreme. But when 
this sort is more overclammy it is the very abyss of cold- 
blooded formality, absolutely insulting and sickening in 
its very touch. 

How hearty and conscious do we find the political hand- 
shake. This is well called a shake. Watch two politicians, 
and see what a hand-shake should be. How glad the 
office-seeker is to see his friend — and every one is his friend; 
how cordially he grasps his hand, how fervently he shakes 
it, with what eagerness he listens to his jokes, with what 
diligence he inquires after the health of the dear elector's 
family, even to the remotest member. 

Words of salutation are found even among the lower 
races, for among the Tupis of Brazil, after a stranger's 
arrival in the hut a short period is spent in silence, then 
the master, who has hitherto taken no notice whatsoever of 
the stranger, suddenly says: "Art thou come?" to which 
the proper reply is, " Yes, I am come." 

To the Chinese question, "How is your father," is the 
answer, "The unworthy father of your unworthy servant 
is well." 

Mathews tells us that the salutations used by the differ- 
ent nations are indicative of the characters of the people. 
"How clearly is the innermost distinction between the 
Greek mind and the Hebrew brought out in their respective 
salutations, 'Rejoice' and 'Peace.' How vividly are con- 
trasted in the two salutations the sunny, world-enjoying 


temper of the one people with the profound religious feel- 
ing of the other." In the expression, "If God will it, you 
are well," is betrayed the fatalism of the Arab, while the 
greeting of the Turk, "May your shadow never grow less!" 
speaks of a sunny clime. 

The dreamy, meditative German, dwelling amid smoke 
and abstraction, salutes you with his vague, impersonal, 
metaphysical "Wie gehts?" "How goes it?" Another 
salutation he uses is "Wie befmden Sie sich?" "How do 
you find yourself?" A born philosopher he is, so absent- 
minded, so lost in thought and clouds of tobacco-smoke, 
that he thinks you cannot tell him of the state of your 
health until you have searched for and found it. 

In the modern civilized world everywhere appears the old 
inquiry after health in the "How do you do?" So con- 
stant is its use that a stranger might imagine that we 
English and Americans were really most solicitous for the 
well-being of our merest acquaintance, or else that the 
whole population was in danger of being afflicted with 
some plague. But he would soon discover that the ques- 
tioners have not the remotest interest in the persons 
addressed, for usually two people on meeting ejaculate at 
the same moment, "How do you do?" and neither one 
waits for an answer. 

'Tis often all on the same principle of 

"One misty, moisty morning, 

When cloudy was the weather, 
I chanced to meet an old man 

Clothed all in leather, 
He began to compliment, 

And I began to grin, 
How do you do, and how do you do, 

And how do you do again?" 


And yet, as George Eliot tells us, "I suppose all phrases 
of mere compliment have their turn to be true. A man 
is occasionally grateful when he says "Thank you,'" and 
so it is "How do you do?" and other words of salutation. 
Hardly less wide in range is set the phrases "Good-day," 
"Good-night," and others, varying of course, with the 

Phrases corresponding with our farewells and welcomes 
are found among all the European countries. Some people 
prefer the French "Au revoir" and "Adieu" to our old 
Anglo-Saxon word "Good-by." But no other word can 
take the place it occupies in many hearts, and I think we 
can all unite with the poet in saying: 

" This seems to me a sacred phrase 

With reverence impassioned, 
A thing come down from righteous days, 

Quaintly but nobly fashioned; 
It well becomes an honest face, 

A voice that's round and cheerful. 
It stays the sturdy in his place 

And soothes the weak and fearful. 
Into the porches of the ear 

It steals with subtile unction, 
And in your heart of hearts appears 

To work its gracious function; 
And all day long, with pleasing song, 

It lingers to caress you. 
I'm sure no human heart goes wrong 

That's told "Good-by— God bless you!" 

Mary M. Haxff. 



Ever since the days of Dean Swift the world has laughed 
at the inhabitants of the flying island of Laputa. These 
people went about with their necks bent and twisted, with 
one of their eyes turned outward and the other directly 
towards the zenith from gazing at the stars. So absorbed 
were they in the heavenly bodies, that instead of inquiring 
about each other when they met, they would ask, "How is 
the sun this morning?" or "How have you found the 
comet to-day?" 

No power of ridicule could exaggerate the absurdity of 
some of the projects they were engaged in, for instance, 
"extracting sunbeams from cucumbers, which were to be 
put in phials, hermetically sealed, and let out to warm 
the air in raw, inclement summers, to calcine ice into gun- 
powder, and to employ blind men to mix paint for the 

We laugh at them, but are we not somewhat like them? 
We go around in this world with our heads high up in the 
air, admiring the conspicuous things in nature, while our 
eyes are closed to some of the most beautiful and interest- 
ing things that are upon this earth. 

There has always been from the earliest ages a fascination 
for man in the celestial bodies. The ancient shepherds 
spent much of their time at night watching the stars, 
which served as their time-pieces, and long before the dawn 
of modern civilization the Chaldeans and Chinese made 
some remarkable observations about the heavenly bodies. 
Undoubtedly the study of any phase of nature must give 
breadth and dignity to the mind, and the great laws which 
astronomers have given to the world have been of inesti- 
mable value; but there is also much to be gained from the 


tiny, almost invisible organisms, and this for centuries 
men overlooked. 

But within the last fifty years scientists have devoted 
their lives to teaching men the beauty and wonder of the 
tiny leaf and flower, and to showing them that the laws, 
which, to create worlds and hold them in place, are not 
more wonderful than those which control the being and 
development of the microscope insect or flower. We can- 
not too highly honor such men as Audubou, Agassiz and 
Apgar, who have opened for us the door of a new and 
beautiful world. There is a grand simplicity in the char- 
acter of these men, who have lived so near the heart of 
nature; they give up their lives to the study of these 
small things, refusing all the honors that the world would 
bestow upon them. Agassiz could have enjoyed all the 
honors that could have been given him, but always he 
remained the same gentle, unostentatious man; just before 
he died requesting that nothing should be put upon his 
monument but "Agassiz — Teacher." Longfellow has most 
appropriately said of him: 

" And nature, the dear old nurse, took 
The child upon her knee, 
Saying, 'here is a story-book 

Thy father has written for thee.' 

'Come wander with me,' she said, 

' Into regions yet untrod, 
And read what is still unread 
In the manuscripts of God.' 

And he wandered away and away 
With nature, the dear old nurse, 

Who sang to him night and day 
The rhymes of the universe. 


And whenever the way seemed long 

Or his heart began to fail, 
She would sing him a more worderfnl song 

Or tell him a more wonderful tale." 

These men are indeed an inspiration; but we wish to see 
what this nature-study is to each one of us personally and 
practically, what it is developing in the children and men 
and women about us. 

In the first place so much precision and delicacy of touch 
is necessary to the preparing and proper mounting of the 
specimens that even this detail work does much to develop 
the accuracy and careful work for which the Sloyd system, 
of Sweden, is especially noted; for a slip of the hand might 
break the delicate wing of an exquisite butterfly, and careless 
mounting often ruins a long-sought-for and carefully cher- 
ished specimen. Besides this, the constant drawing of the 
specimens while under the microscope trains the perceptive 
powers, and we gain new and more correct ideas of beauty 
of form. Things that to the naked eye seemed nothing 
more than a shapeless mass, when put under the micro- 
scope appear to be a thousand little stars, each striving to 
be more perfect in form or more brilliant in color than 
the other. 

When we begin the study of these small creatures we 
begin for the first time to use our eyes, and the world seems 
a new world to us, more beautiful than ever before, full of 
new pleasures and charms. The rock which was before 
barren is now covered with moss, with patches of bright 
color here and there and marvellous organisms, which are 
as "frail as the ash of the cigar," but which are able to stand 
the winds and rains, the scorching suns and biting frosts. 
Then, too, we notice color in the newly-turned furrow in 
the ploughed field; and in many of the flowers, which 


we before thought ugly, we will find the most deli- 
cate shades of color. The chickweed, to which we never 
before gave a passing glance, now has beautiful white 
flowers which look like little stars in the green grass, and 
this grass which we find mantling hills, fields and mead- 
ows has flowers, and some of them have the most delicate 
shades of pink and lilac when examined under the micro- 

All these things we get from our nature-study, and going 
a step further, we shall find that not only do we acquire 
accuracy, perception and a keen sense of color, but that 
from our small insect friends we learn many lessons of 
order, industry and kindness. 

If we would study a perfect communistic society, let us 
throw away our history of poor human attempts and study 
the nearest ant-hill. Here we find not only love for friends 
and family, but for every one, and everything is done for 
the good of the whole community and not individuals. 
There government is carried on with such smoothness that 
I am sure it would not be necessary for the ants to call a 
legislature every two years, and I suppose it could not be 
said of the ant lawyers what our Governor said of our 
lawyers: "Our grave and reverend seignors make the 
unwritten law by writing it in countless pages of confused 
and conflicting reports." 

In their family relations we often see their humane feel- 
ings manifested, for if one ant finds another in distress she 
shows the greatest activity and solicitude in giving it relief. 

There was once a gentleman who had an ant born with- 
out antenna?, and one day while she was out walking she 
was attacked by another, and of different species, and seri- 
ously wounded. When one of her companions, who hap- 
pened to be passing, saw her, she examined the wound closely 
and then gently took her up and carried her back home. 



Although we do not often realize the fact, these humble 
friends of ours are great architects, and even creatures who 
could plan the Boston Library and Brooklyn Bridge need 
not scorn their valuable lessons in this direction. 

Neat rows of hives on a sunny slope, with an orchard on 
one side and a wide, stretching meadow on the other, the 
hum of the busy inhabitants of this city of cities, the odor 
of honey weighing each passing breeze, constitute one 
of the most home-like possessions of an ideal country 
home. The honey-bee exercises great architectural skill 
in building his house, for the hexagonal cells of the honey- 
comb represent such a compact arrangement that it seems 
as if the bees were skilled mathematicians, and had fully 
planned to secure the most room in the least space. Here 
this little creature has accomplished by instinct what man 
would have had to spend many years of toil and study on, 
and I doubt if he could accomplish it then. 

So much nature-study has done for us practically, and 
more than this, the truth about this world of ours is gradu- 
ally weaving itself into the literature of our day, and we 
have literature and science united in such books as "Wal- 
den," by Thoreau, "Kentucky Cardinal," by James Lane 
Allen, and the "Pepaction," by John Burroughs. The 
love of the real naturalist for the small things in nature 
shows itself in the devotion of Adam Moss to the beautiful 
red cardinal, and the whole book is full of the prettiest 
scientific truths. John Burroughs has given us delightful 
essays on "A Summer Voyage," " Springs," Birds and Bees, 
and a number of other such subjects. He loves the little 
things in nature, and he makes us love them too. We 
never see him frightening a bird by trying to cage him or 
catch him, but he is so gentle and kind to them that they 
all love him. 

Nature to the scientist is full of definite meanings and 
laws and a store-house of powers; it is thus and so, and not 


otherwise; but to the poet it is what he chooses to make it; 
he sees it through a colored glass, sees it truthfully, but 
there is a charm added to it. A tree, or flower, or bird, or 
bee, has a hidden meaning the poet is to open for us, and 
every poet shall interpret them differently. Burns' daisy 
is not Wordsworth's; Emerson's bee is not Lowell's; nor does 
Turner see nature as Tantorret does. Nature is all things 
to all men; to each one of us she speaks her various lan- 
guage, and yet more and more to each one of us, as we 
study deeper into her mysteries, does she sa} 7 ever new and 
ever more beautiful things. Lily E. Koonce. 


What are little boys made of, anyway? We all know the 
old-timey distinction between little girls made of sugar 
and spice and all that's nice, and poor little boys made of 
snaps and snails and puppy dog tails, but in spite of their 
antiquity we cannot quite believe these rhymes, for if they 
were true boys could not be such interesting creatures as 
we sometimes find them. 

Jerome K. Jerome, in his book on stage characters, won- 
ders why real little boys cannot be more like stage boys. 
"The stage child," he says, "is nice and quiet, and talks 
pretty. It speaks of its male and female progenitors as 
'dear, dear Papa,' and 'dear, dear Mama.'" But in real 
life he thinks the child is quite different, for it is usually 
"dirty and gritty and sticky," asks a thousand questions, 
and not infrequently alludes to its father (if he is not 
present) as "the old man." The stage child is much supe- 
rior to the live infant in every way. He does not get up 
at five o'clock in the morning to practice playing on a 


whistle. The stage child does not ask twenty complicated 
questions and then wind up by asking why you don't 
seem to know anything, and why wouldn't anybody teach 
you anything when you were a little boy. He comes down 
stairs on his feet. The stage child does not even wish for 
a bicycle, and drive you mad about it. Nobody — on the 
stage we mean — ever gets tired of the stage child. 

Now this stage child strongly resembles the boy of old- 
timey fiction ; never was there such a model of thirst for 
learning, of well brushed hair, of spotless trousers, as this 
boy in fiction in the time of our grandfathers. He might 
be imbibing knowledge at home as was Tommy in "San- 
ford and Merton," he might, like Rollo, be questioning his 
father or following Jonas around the farm, or he might, 
like the youths in "Swiss Family Robinson," be cast upon 
a desert island, but always he was the same. 

Tommy in " Sanford and Merton" is taught to find out 
things for himself in the most philosophical manner. He 
uses the longest words, that a boy of to-day would not 
know how to pronounce, much less the meaning. Tommy 
is described as standing in the midst of danger, perfectly 
still, "sobbing piteously, and cannot find words to speak." 
We cannot imagine any twelve-year-old boy of to-day act- 
ing in that way, and from what our grandfathers have told 
us we do not believe that they were that kind of boy. 
Indeed, from their own stories they seemed to have been as 
full of fun and mischief and as fond of practical jokes as 
our own boys. So we are forced to the reluctant conclu- 
sion that the authors of the "Rollo Books," or "Sanford 
and Merton," and of "Swiss Family Robinson," were not 
realists, and that they have depicted for us ideal little boys. 

The goody boys of long ago are forever held up in ridi- 
cule by Mark Twain in his model boy in " Tom Sawyer." 

" The model boy took as heedful care of his mother as if 


she were cut glass. He always brought her to church, and 
was the pride of all the matrons. The boys all hated him, 
he was so good. And besides, he had been 'thrown up to 
them so much." The well regulated mind, however, can- 
not but prefer Tom Sawyer himself; for we have heard of 
real boys who carried cats by the tails, ran away from 
home, and did various other mischievous things, but never 
yet have we seen that boy who carried his mother to church 
as if she were in a glass case. 

These goody boys should certainly have been the ones 
to have worn white duck trousers, for we are sure they 
never would have gotten them soiled. What a contrast to 
the foot-ball players of to-day, whose main object seems to 
be to get themselves as dirty as possible. 

Dickens' boys, even, are wholly unnatural. They are 
interesting, they are pathetic, but they are ill and worn, 
they never romp and play, they never have good color or 
a hearty laugh. Some of them like Snuke and Oliver are 
quite bowed down with the world's misery. Occasionally 
they are born in comfortable circumstances, like little Paul, 
but even he at the age of six was sent to the sternest of 
school-masters to study Latin and Greek. He has been 
sickly and delicate all his life, and one-half year of the 
work breaks him down, and so his father's hopes and plans 
of the future firm "Dombey & Son" perish. Paul has 
been brought up with grown people, he knows nothing of 

But of late years the child character has been studied to 
a great extent, and we find the modern writers the most 
successful in depicting the boy's character as he really is. 

This reform began with Thackeray. Thackeray under- 
stood boys, and so did the author of "Tom Brown at 
Rugby." Thackeray says of one: "What was it that so 
facinated the young student as he stood by the river shore? 


Not the Pons Asinorum. What book so delighted him and 
blinded him to all the rest of the world, so that he did not 
care to see the apple-woman with her fruit or (more tempt- 
ing still to the sons of Eve) the pretty girls with their apple 
cheeks, who laughed and prattled 'round the fountain! 
What was the book? Do you suppose it was Livy or the 
Greek grammar? No; it was a novel that you were read- 
ing, you lazy, good-for-nothing, not very clean, sensible 

And who could help loving Tom Brown? He is just 
what we imagine the ideal English boy would be. He is 
hale and hearty and happy, with his bright, sunburned 
face, his brave heart, his sense of humor and love for fun. 
His protection and love for defenseless little Arthur is very 
boyish, and when he is finally won over to Arthur's opin- 
ions he wishes his friend East to be so too; when he tries 
to bring him over to a serious talk, how like a boy he is. 

Then come Captain Maryat's sea stories, with their whole- 
some, breezy boys, who delighted in good, honest adven- 
ture, not the false, foolish romance of the dime novel style. 
Even some of dear Miss Young's nice English iboys are not 
to be despised, for although they are a little too proper 
they are brave and hardy, they scorn a lie and are ready 
to fight some pretty hard moral battles very manfully. 

Kipling's boy-life, too, is interesting. Sometimes he 
transports us to India, the land of illness and heat, where 
the boy lives, with his ayah, surrounded by valiant Eng- 
lish regiments. There he grows to be the brave fellow we 
afterwards find in England. How delightful we found 
" Wee Willie Winkie," "Baa, Baa, Black Sheep," and Dick 
in the "Light that Failed." 

The woman who excelled in everything — George Eliot — 
also excelled in painting the character of the real boy. 
Tom Tulliver, in "The Mill on the Floss," is the true boy. 


Torn thought his sister Maggie "a silly," all girls were silly, 
they couldn't throw a stone to hit anything, couldn't do 
anything with a pocket-knife, and were frightened at frogs. 
Still he was very fond of his sister, and meant always to 
take care of her, make her his housekeeper, and punish 
her when she did wrong. Tom had more than the usual 
share of boy's justice in him — the justice that desires to 
hurt culprits as much as they deserve to be hurt, and is 
troubled with no doubts concerning the exact amount of 
their deserts. One incident is especially true to life. Tom 
and Maggie had a jam tart which had not been divided into 
two even halves. Maggie wished Tom to have the best 
piece, but he insisted upon her shutting her eyes and 

"You've got it," said Tom in rather a bitter tone. 

"What! the piece with the jam out?" 

"No; here, take it," said Tom, firmly handing decidedly 
the best piece to Maggie. 

"Oh, please, Tom, have it; I don't mind — I like the 
other; please take this." 

"No, I shan't," said Tom, almost cross, beginning on his 
own inferior piece. 

Maggie thinking it was no use to contend further, began 
too, and ate up her half puff with considerable relish as 
well as rapidity. But Tom had finished first and had to 
look on while Maggie ate her last morsel or two, feeling in 
himself a capacity for more. 

"0, you greedy thing! " said Tom, when she had swal- 
lowed the last morsel. 

Maggie turned quite pale. "0, Tom, why didn't you 
ask me?" 

"I wasn't going to ask you for a bit, you greedy. You 
might have thought of it without, when you knew I gave 
you the best bit." 


"But I wanted you to have it — you know I did," said 
Maggie in an injured tone. 

" Yes ; but I wasn't going to do what wasn't fair, like 
Spouncer. He always takes the best bit, if you don't 
punch him for it, and if you choose the best bit he changes 
his hands. But if I go halves, I'll go 'em fair — only I 
wouldn't be greedy." 

But of all interesting boy characters that of " Sentimental 
Tommy" could hardly be surpassed. Tommy was a young 
man of five years, who was clothed in sexless garments, 
and whose knowledge of the world was somewhat limited, but 
like most boys of that age he found it difficult to stand 
contradiction, though it was a subject about which he 
knew nothing. Shovel, a man of seven, was Tommy's 
most intimate companion, and as both were given to boast- 
ing, they sometimes came to blows. On one occasion they 
had entered into a heated discussion as to which was the 
better place, Thrums or London. The younger, whose im- 
agination was used recklessly, insisted that the former was. 

Shovel had said : " None on yer lip. You weren't never 
at Thrums, yourself." 

Tommy's reply was: "Ain't my mother a Thrums 
woman ? " 

" The Thames is in London," said Shovel. 

" Cos they wouldn't have it in Thrums," replied Tommy. 

"Amstead Eath's in London, I tell yer," Shovel said. 

"The cemetery is in Thrums," said Tommy. 

"There ain't no queens in Thrums, anyhow." 

" There's the Auld licht minister." 

" Well, then, if you jest seed Trafalgar Square! " 

" If you jest seed the Thrums town house! " 

"St. Paul's ain't in Thrums." 

" It would like to be." 

After reflecting, Shovel said in desperation : " Well, then, 
my father were once at a hanging." 


Tommy replied instantly: "It were my father what was 

There was no possible answer to this save a knoek-down 
blow, but though Tommy was vanquished in body, his 
spirit remained stanch; he raised his head and gasped: 
" You should see how they knock down in Thrums." It 
was then that Shovel sat on him. 

And just such a fascinating, perverse imp Tommy con- 
tinues to the end of the story. His affection for his little 
sister is one of his chief charms — that same little sister 
whom he tried so hard to keep out of his home when Shovel 
said she was coming. He was such an imaginative little 
chap that he could make himself anything he wished. He 
could assume the crape and mourn equally as much for his 
friend's father as his friend could himself. His sympathy 
was so easily aroused that he sometimes cried without 
knowing why. He was sometimes Prince Charles, some- 
times the leader of the rebels, and almost at the next 
moment he could become himself again. And yet this 
same boy, with the instinct of real genius, could lose a prize 
and spend two hours trying to think of one correct word 
for his essay. 

Such are some of the boys of fiction, and I am sure that 
to the modern taste, Wee Willie Winkie, Tom Tulliver and 
Sentimental Tommy will appeal as they of the spotless 
trousers, long words and irreproachable behavior never 
could. Theodora Marshall. 



Quoiqne FEspagne et la France ne soient separees que par 
Ies Pyrenes les moeurs, la langue, et les idees des deux 
nations different beaucoup Cette difference est fort marquee 
daus le drame des deux' nations, fond& sur la religion, et 
ayant son origine dans les moralites et les mysteres du 

Le drame francais est distinctement classique, le drame 
espagnol, purement national. Le drame existait en Espagne 
avant que cette nation se melat a, d'autres nations et 
adapte au gout, aux manieres, aux coutumes et aux singu- 
larity de la nation a laquelle it etait destine^ la forme etait 
plus irreguliere que dans le drame frangaise. Son but 
etait de toucher le coeur du peuple, de s'accorder avec ses 
sentiments et ses coutumes et de flatter sa vanity nationale. 

Les dramatistes francais observaient nue regularity rig- 
onreuse dans les formes et leurs pieces, surtout eel les de 
Racine (Esther seule exceptee) sont soumises a la fameuse 
loi des troi unites. 

Les dramatistes de l'Espane ecrivirent pour plaire a la 
masse, ceux de la France pour plaire aux lettres. Les 
frangaise out plus de politesse et de gout, mais l'energie et 
la liberte de'expression et d 'opinion qui caracterisent le 
drame Espagnol leur manque. Dans le drame espagnol 
nous trouvons une complication d'affaires de coeur, de com- 
bats et de galantrie qu'il est difficile a suivre. Chaque 
nation a glorifi6 son auteur favori, si la France est fier de 
Racine, l'Espagne montre une egale veneration pour Cal- 
deron de la Barca. Le style de Racine est energique, sa 
langue est magnifique, simple, variee, harmonieuse et 
touchante. La tragedie de Racine est nue representation 
aussi exacte que possible des sentiments et des passions qui 


petivent agiter l'homme. Sou chef d' oeuvre, "Athalie," 
n'est pas senlement la plus parfaite des tragedies mais eucore 
le chef d' oeuvre de la poesie frauscaise Toutefois cette 
admirable tragedie ue fut pas jouee eu public et eut fort 
peu de lecteurs. Ou a donne plusieurs raisons pour expli- 
quer cet iusucces qui saus doute etait du a uue cabale ana- 
logue a celle qui fit echouer Phedre. 

Calderon de la Barca sacrifiait tout a 1' interet de son 
intrigue, ses personnages sont des heros places dans des situ- 
ations exceptiounelles, ceux de Racine sont des hommes, 
non pas des heros. 

Moliere est universellement reconnucomme la plus haute 
expression du genie comique dans tous les temps et dans 
tous les pays. 

Daus " Les Pricienses Ridicules" il attaque un travers 
alors bien commun, la preciosite qui consistait a vouloir a 
tout prix se distinguer du vulgaire, daus sa toilette, dans 
ses manieres et surtout dans son langage. Moliere est 
admirable de verite jusqu a dans ses moindres oeuvres, il 
est d'une profondeur etonnante, son style est brilliant et 
vif. La plupart des caracteres de moliere sont devenus 
d'imperissable types, de personnages dessines avec taut de 
perfection qu'ils semblent avoir eu uue existence reele. 

A cote du grand nom de moliere il faut placer le nom de 
Lope de Vega d'Espagne, dont le but principal etait d' 
eveiller l'interet par les situations dans lesquelles ses carac- 
teres etaient places et par le devoloppement de son complot 
II nous donne un portrait fidele des coutumes, et des moeurs 
de son pays, et du caractere espagnol dont le trait le plus 
frappant est l'extreme susceptibilite en tout cequi touche 

Le dix huitieme siecle etait un age de scepticisme en 
France, Voltaire etant la personnification de sa temerite, de 
sa raillerie, de sa vivacite et de son zele. II avait un grand 


amour pour l'humanite' et aurait gagne l'estime universe] 
si l'absence de toute foi religieuse n'eut paralyse souvent 
les nobles qualites de son arae. An commencement du dix 
neuviemesiecle un grand mouvement romantiquebouleversa 
le theatre franfais, Victor Hugo entre prit de renouveler 
de fond en comble la litterature dramatique, il affranchit 
la tragedie des regies rigides, et inutiles qui l'avaient si 
long temps limitee. 

Le theatre espagnol fonde sur les traits du caractere 
national avec toutes ses fautes, conserva durant plusieurs 
siecles et est encore anjoured hui l'une des figures les plus 
frappantes et les plus interei-santes de la litterature moderne. 

Isabella Willis Pescud. 


At the end of the eighteenth century the din and con- 
fusion of the French Revolution, which began in the 
storming of the Bastile, was still resounding in men's 
hearts, and men were sending forth shrieks for liberty, fra- 
ternity and equality. With the sound of the Marseillaise 
began also a revolution in art, in science and in literature. 
As nearly as England had approached a literary renova- 
tion in the romantic poets she still had not attained it. 
In vain was the foundation of poetry changed. Men clung 
to the form of the artificial school. They wrote too well to be 
natural, they adhered too strictly to the Greek rules and 
draped their poetry with too much stateliness. But the 
time had come for a real revolution, and form was to 
become subservient to sense. When Roland, the Minister 
to France, appeared before Louis XVI. with no buckles on 
his shoes, the master of ceremonies raised his hands to 


heaven, feeling that all was lost, and, in fact, the bent of 
the human mind was also changed. This reversal of 
affairs was confused and turbulent, but it was from the 
noblest impulses that could inspire the heart. Men had 
seen their countrymen oppressed and wronged ; their hearts 
were sickened by the horrors and bloodshed of the French 
Revolution, and they longed to help and uplift their 
oppressed and downtrodden brethren, to show them that 
true libertv did not mean lawlessness and bloodshed. The 
three great poets of the first part of the century were the 
finest exponents of this noble movement. Shelley was in 
fiery revolt against all conventions and institutions, but it 
was not, as in Byron's case, from the turbulence of pas- 
sions which were held in check by no restraints, but rather 
from an overflowing, intellectual impulse which it was 
impossible for him to control. His pure and beautiful 
character was in strong distinction to Byron's sensuous and 
passionate nature. Shelley in his life and poetry was as 
nearly a disembodied spirit as a creature can be. He is 
like the dew-drop, which he says: 

"Becomes a winged mist and wanders up the vault of the 
Outlives the noon, and in the sun's last ray, 
Hangs o're the sea, a fleece of fire and amethyst." 

From his earliest boyhood he was a dreamer, a mystic, 
ever searching for ideal beauty in character, in nature and 
in intellect. He was one of 

"God's prophets of the Beautiful, 
Who died for beauty as martyrs do for truth." 

Though a dreamer, he was not incapable of being roused to 
avenge any injustice, and in his early college-life his sensitive 
nature revolted against the outrageous system of fagging, 


by which the older boys oppressed the freshmen, and his 
exertions and example were effectual, in a way, in abolish- 
ing the indignities and physical pain inflicted upon them. 
This is the first manifestation of his intense hatred of tyrany 
in any form, which became the key-note of his after-life. 
Liberty was his adored religion, and his first poems, written 
during his college-life, show his burning zeal to do some- 
thing to aid it in its noble efforts. They embody his social 
creed of perfectionism, and contain a vague system of belief 
in a spirit of love in nature and man. This was the period 
of life in which he was so bitter against the existing forms 
of government. Temperament and circumstances conspired 
to make him a reformer at a time of life when few are 
bold enough to go beyond prescribed bounds. He was 
thrown upon society (at a time) with a vehemence and pre- 
cipitancy which startled men rather than made them 
appreciative of his love and zeal. He was too sensitive 
to be a happy man, and it was his constant, insatiable 
longing for the unattainable which he thought he found 
embodied in so many people, and his final disappointment, 
that was the cause of so much of his unhappiness. What 
he says of the sensitive plant, truly applies to himself: 

" For the sensitive plant has no bright flower, 
Radiance and color are not its dower, 
It loves, even like love, its deep heart is full, 
It desires what it has not, the beautiful." 

His tremulous nature quivered at every breath of emo- 
tion, and his nerves ever craved newer shocks, to thrill, to 
grow faint in the spasm of intense sensation. He felt that 
all which kept him from soaring to higher things was his 
unsubstantial body, which was literally burned out by his 
overflowing spirit. In moments of despair he utters words 
like these: 

ST. MART 8 MUSE. 31 

"I could lie down like a tired child, and weep away this 
life of care, 
Which I have borne and yet must bear." 

There is that etherealism and idealization about him 
which places him above this world. It is strange how often 
he uses the metaphor of wings: of the winged spirit, soar- 
ing like his skylark into the infinite realms of heaven, till 
lost in the music of its own sweet voice it falls again to 
earth. The bird is a poet, 

" In a light of thought, singing hymns unbidden, 
Till the world is wrought to sympathy with hopes and 
fears it heeded not." 

The skylark is Shelley himself, and in his ode he expresses 
the successive changes in the temper of his own mind, 
which we find in so many of his poems, longing for the 
beautiful, ecstacy at the thought of finding it, and utter 
despondency when he finds his hopes disappointed. In his 
longer poems he becomes intoxicated with the music of his 
own singing, he gives full scope to his imagination and the 
song goes on by its own inspiration, like the enchanted 
boat in "Alastor" with no one at the helm. Vision follows 
vision in glorious but mystifying profusion, ideal land- 
scapes and cities of cloud rise in pinnacle after pinnacle. 

Shelley was truly Greek, and embodied more than any 
other poet of his age the beauties of the Hellenic revival. 
All of his subjects are not classic, but the poetry that was 
in the man's soul, the elevating and exciting quality w T hich 
pervades all of his poetry, made chaste and elegant the 
most ordinary theme. He professed to be an atheist, but 
it is almost impossible to credit his unbelief in a Divine 
Author after becoming enthused with the ideal beauty of 
his poetry. In his " Adonais," the most beautiful tribute 
ever paid to the memory of a friend, he likens life to " A 


dome of many-colored glass which stains the white radiance 
of eternity." The Greeks made gods of everything in 
nature and, like them, Shelley was idolater of nature. She 
was the only thing that revealed to him perfect divinity of 
any form. Of the beauties of nature " He made a gorgeous 
Pantheon full of beautiful, majestic and life-like forms. 
He turned atheism itself into a mythology rich with visions 
as glorious as the gods that live in the marble of Phidias, 
or the virgin saints that smile on us from the canvas of 
Murillo. " We recognize in his lyrics the elegance and 
simplicity which characterize the Greek masterpieces. 

Shelley's descriptions of nature, glittering and shining 
with iridescent sheens and glorious colorings require the 
genius of a Turner to reproduce on canvas. Perhaps it is 
because of Turner's strange mixture of colors, the feeling 
that his scenes are vague and beyond our view, that they 
have such fascination for us. They seem to have some- 
thing more than what he puts on canvas, and so it is with 
Shelley's poems, they lead us on to higher things. His 
colors, as himself, never rest. They move and flit from 
one beauty to another and seem to flash before his eyes and 
in an instant give place to others more resplendent. Like 
Turner's colors, they make "a tapestry of fleece-like mist," 
or " woven exhalation, underlaid with lambent lightning 
fire." He was passionately fond of fire, and says: " Men 
scarcely know how beautiful fire is. Each flame of it is as 
a precious stone dissolved in ever-moving light." 

After his early death near Venice his body was cremated 
according to the quarantine laws of Italy, a fitting end for 
the soul that so passionately loved the flames. 

The lyrics of his last years are the gems of all he has 
written, and too plainly do they show that his poetic life 
had just begun, and his full glory was reserved for better 
things than those of earth. No poet uses more beautiful 


figures, which he pours forth in stream and torrent till we 
are dazzled with their shifting glory: 

''The sanguine sunrise, 

With his meteor eyes, and his burning plumes out- 
Leaps on the back of my sailing rack, 
When the morning star shines dead." 

With him figurative language, which was a fit drapery 
for his idealistic thoughts, was an essential. One of his 
poems, written upon the conditions of England, contains a 
most vivid and terrible figure. Hope, the maniac maid, 
cries to the oppressed: 

" My Father Time is hoar and grey 
With waiting for a better day. 
See how idiot-like he stands, 
Trembling with his palsied hands. 
He has had child after child, 
And the dust of death is piled 
Over every one but me. 
Misery! Oh Misery." 

He was truly the poet's poet, and it is only for their 
truly poetic beauty that his poems arouse the thrilling sen- 
sations, for they tell us nothing of men and women, but 
are abstract and fanciful; the West Wind, the Sensitive 
Plant, and the Spirit of Solitude, Liberty and Justice, were 
the goddesses whom he adored, whom he is ever striving to 
behold in their perfect form. 

After reading Shelley how can we wonder at the idolatry 
bestowed upon him. Shelley outsang all poets on record, 
but two or three, throughout all time; his depths, his 
heights of inner and outer music are as divine as nature, 
and not sooner exhaustible. He was alone the perfect sing- 


ing god. His thoughts, words, deeds, all sang together. 
The master singer of our modern race and age, the poet 
beloved above all other poets, in one word, and the only 
proper word, divine." Truly we can say of Shelley what 
he has said of Keats: 

" He is made one with nature, 
There is heard his voice in all her music, 
From the moan of thunder to the song of night's sweet 

He is a presence to be known and felt in darkness, 
And in night from herb and stone, 
Spreading itself where'er that power may move, 
Which has withdrawn his being to its own, 
Which wields the world with never wearied love, 
Sustains it from beneath and kindles it above." 

Mary P. Jones. 



We reached Denver in August, and our first impression 
as we stepped on the platform was that it was one of the 
hottest places we had ever been in, and we were five 
thousand feet above the sea-level! The sun poured down 
and, of course, there was not a tree in sight. As we walked 
into our boarding-house, however, presto, change ! we felt 
that we had stepped into a refrigerator. This is one of the 
many peculiarities of Colorado. On the sunny side of the 
street you are literally scorched, cross to the shady side and 
you feel chilly. The sun is a distinct feature of Western 
life. The Coloradians are sun-worshippers, they glory in 
their sun, and there is not a house in town or country guilty 


of blinds or awnings in summer or winter. In the East the 
sun is mild and retiring; here it is bold and aggressive. It is 
guaranteed to cure all the ills that flesh is heir to, and every 
day you may see countless invalids, on the piazzas and in 
the public squares, bathing themselves in the sunlight. 

The first question that greets the tourist is: " And what 
do you think of the West?" 

Yqu must be wary and diplomatic if you would not give 
offence, for these Westerners are well aware how often they 
are quoted as wild and woolly, and being all of them really 
Easterners, they are extremely sensitive to the slightest 
criticism. You must tell them with enthusiasm how lovely 
their country is, how grand their mountains, how exhila- 
rating the air. You must wax eloquent over their wonder- 
ful enterprise and energy; you must extol the Western 
hospitality, and when you cease, exhausted, they will beam 
upon you and open their hearts and homes to you. "Of 
course there are a few drawbacks," they will then say, 
affably; but you must utterly repudiate this. 

Denver is a beautiful, sunshiny city. In the distance are 
the Rocky Mountains — first the blue foot-hills and behind 
them the lofty peaks which, summer and winter, are always 
covered with snow. Literally encircling the city, they 
stand grand, immovable and abiding, the sun pouring down 
upon their golden summits. The streets are broad and in 
the business portions well paved, but in the suburbs they 
are not paved at all, and when it rains Denver is one of the 
muddiest cities in the world. If you remark upon this the 
reply is: "But it is never supposed to rain in Colorado." 
That it does rain (and when it does it pours) doesn't matter 
at all. 

Nearly every one in Denver came originally to " prospect 
a little and take a look West before settling; down." To 
this day they all speak of some place back East as " home." 


There seems to be a fascination about the country and life — 
a certain sense of freedom — a feeling, as one old Ranchman 
expressed it, of " roominess." " Only," he remarked, " Colo- 
rady was getting a'most too full for him; there was a man 
had come lately and settled not three miles from him, and 
he hated bein' crowded." 

A Ranchman is the most free and independent of mor- 
tals. His chief cultivation is alfalfa, a cheap and good food 
for horses and cattle. As he cannot depend upon rain at 
all he irrigates extensively. Even in the streets of Denver 
you will find streams running by the sidewalks in a vain 
endeavor to coax into something like growth the stunted 
trees. Every week the lawns are " flooded " at the city's 
expense. I remember my sensation the first time I ever 
saw the flooding process. I was sitting on a piazza at Colo- 
rado Springs, quietly reading a book, when suddenly, to 
my horror, I saw a rushing torrent of water literally flood- 
ing the yard. It rose as high as the first step, and in about 
ten minutes, to my great relief, slowly began to subside. 

I never met but one person who after having once lived 
in Colorado wished to go East. That was an old Ranch- 
man who complained that " You couldn't grow nothing no 
how in Colorady but alapacky, and you had to irritate that 
to raise it." 

In the West one pays for unexpected things. You find 
your board bill the most trivial of your expenses. You 
pay for the view, you pay for the sun, you pay for the 
water (you buy water in Denver), and you pay for the air. 
beautiful, world-renowned, exhilarating Colorado air, how 
expensive thou art ! 

''Board's high," says your landlady, "but think of the 
nice air you're a'breathin', and the sunshine you're a'gettin', 
and the lovely view you're enjoyin', and the nice Artesian 
water you're a'drinkin'." We retire without a murmur. 


We had not thought of these expensive things; somehow 
they seemed so natural and to be expected. 

We enjoyed our visit to the Ranch more than any other 
part of our sojourn in the West. Of course it was very 
new and interesting to us. The vast stretch of prairie all 
around, the hundreds of grazing cattle and the distant 
"foot-hills" made a beautiful background. Then it was 
so much fun to don jacket and leggings and every after- 
noon, in company with Joe, the interesting, handsome, real 
cow-boy, gallop away after the hundred or so cows. And 
what a conglomeration of gallantry and rudeness, culture 
and roughness Joe was. A regular type, and accordingly 
dear to our hearts. Joe was one of the few real cow-boys 
left. There is many a "would be." It is a fad with the 
tourist to array himself picturesquely in cow-boy costume 
and have his photograph taken in fierce, Western, effective 
poses. This he sends home to his admiring friends, who 
then fancy him always dashing o'er hill and prairie in this 
most fetching apparel. Alas, that a near acquaintance 
with these things takes away the glamour. The costume 
is rented for fifty cents a sitting, and the stable-keeper is 
with difficulty persuaded to rent a horse for one dollar per 
hour. These " would be " cow-boys, however, are prefera- 
ble to the average genuine article. He is rather dirty and 

Of course I must not forget one important feature of 
Western life — the Rocky Mountain canary — the burro; the 
patient, sad, long-eared and fearfully stubborn burro ! He is 
cheap; for a quarter you can hire him and a small boy to 
beat him. The boy goes in for the quarter. The initiated 
one hires a burro by the number of miles he wishes to travel, 
not by the week or month. Thus sometimes he gets a burro 
(and the boy) for a whole week and only pays a quarter. 

With the rashness of youth and the extreme confidence 


of ignorance, I volunteered one morning to go for the mail 
for the rest of the boarders. They were sitting listlessly 
on the piazza, but they all brightened up immediately and 
applauded my intention. They asked if it were not a long 
walk. I told them no, that I w r as going to ride Kate. 
Kate is a broad-backed, fat burro. The enthusiam seemed 
to subside suddenly, and one man said he guessed I 
needn't bother about his letters, he was going on a tramp- 
ing expedition about ten miles up the canon, and he would 
pass by the post-office on his way home that night. He 
thought he would probably be there before me. I smiled 
at his joke. I was inexperienced with burros in general 
and with Kate in particular. But, ah! Kate, dear, stub- 
born, obstinate Kate, little did I know what mighty power 
lay dormant in you! We started out gaily enough; that 
is one of Kate's little ways; but as we reached the summit 
of the first hill she stopped. Blows, kicks, entreaties w T ere 
of no avail. Little cared she that the sun was shining 
with the malignity which only a Colorado sun possesses. I 
wept, I stormed. I remembered the boarders' bright, 
anticipating faces, and, goaded by the recollection, I admin- 
istered a last, vicious kick. Kate budged not, and the 
small boy burst into tears. He did not see the faintest 
prospect of earning his quarter. We had not gone half a 

The worst thing about burros is that they are so deceiv- 
ing — they look so willing, so gentle, and they are so stub- 
born, so vicious. Not that they do not excite a certain 
kind of admiration, for before such extreme determination 
of character, such rocky force, one feels puny and insig- 

As the man from the canon distributed the mail that 
night I gave him privately, but forcibly, my opinion of 
Kate. He said it was wrong to indulge such feelings; he 


could show me, he said, that it was not so mch innate 
meanness as a natural result of the education of a burro. 
He said he could sympathize with the burro; that after a 
thirty years' or so tussle with life he was beginning to feel 
just as mulish. 

At night we would often hear the coyotes howling around 
the Ranch. And one morning we awoke to find two fierce, 
snarly-looking specimens in the corral near the hen-house. 
Even in death they looked dangerous. " They're the 
meanest things agoin'," said Farmer Hutchins, revenge- 
fully. " Coyotes and Indians is pizen." The coyotes are 
particular and dainty, and eat only the very young and 
tender spring chickens. The little prairie-dogs are very 
cute. As you whirl through the prairies on the train they 
scamper out of their holes, stand on their hind feet, and 
gaily wave their little paws at you. 

I heard rumors of buffalo at one place called Buffalo 
Park, but the name seemed to be only a reminiscence of 
past glories. 

There are a great many people here for their health, but 
they do look so well. It is strange to you to hear the most 
stalwart specimens, men who seem so unusually well, 
weighing about two hundred pounds or so, say cheerfully, 
" Oh! yes; I've only one left, the other lung's gone entirely, 
been gone fifteen years." You wonder apprehensively what 
they would look like if they had two. You feel that they 
would be scarcely presentable. 

While in Colorado Springs we visited the beautiful can- 
ons, the celebrated " Garden of the Gods " and " Helen 
Hunt's grave." The last is a lovely spot situated in the 
Cheyenne canons, from whose summit you can see Colorado 
Springs, Denver and Maniton. No wonder that she herself 
chose this as her last resting-place. 

The scenery here is utterly different from that in the 


East. "How sweet and pretty," said a young lady of 
the party, as we looked down one morning from Pike's 
Peak. Pretty or sweet are just the last adjectives you 
could apply. Magnificent, grand, bare or rugged, but 
pretty! Imagine huge mountains of rock without a single 
tree or green growth of any kind; wild canons, and below 
mile after mile of boundless prairie, and then think of our 
feelings when the young lady murmered, "How sweetly 
pretty." We felt that the "pillars of Hercules," through 
which we drove, ought to fall upon her. 

On Pike's Peak we saw the first wagon which had reached 
the top of the mountain. On it was written, "Pike's Peak 
or Bust." It expresses the prevailing sentiment in the 
West, and explains, perhaps, their remarkable success in all 
their undertakings. 

While in Colorado I voted. It was at the last Presiden- 
tial election. I will not say for whom I voted. Suffice it 
that my candidate was not elected. The ladies in the 
neighborhood had found out that my mother and I were 
voters, and that day, to my surprise, I beheld four car- 
riages drawn up in front of the house. Feeling very 
important, I descended and discovered that they had all 
come to take me to the polls. My mother had decided 
not to vote; being very conscientious, she admitted that 
she did not know a thing about politics, and was therefore 
not qualified. I, however, feeling myself fully qualified, 
and much pleased with the attention, entered the first car- 
riage and was driven off. " Of course you vote our ticket," 
said the lady whom I had never seen before. "What is 
yours?" I asked. She told me. "No," I said, innocently, 
" I promised to vote the other." " Oh! " she said, and then, 
"James, you may drive back." And back we went to the 

The three other carriages were still in line, waiting in the 
vain hope of catching my mother, who was keeping well 


out of view. Having ascertained without doubt what 
party belonged to which carriage, I was rolled away to 
the polls. There I was solemnly taken to a room, left by 
myself with my ballot, and the key turned. It seemed 
almost a solemn or funeral occasion. I had imagined some- 
thing like frivolity at the polls, a little jesting or mirth. I 
had heard traditions of the cup which inebriates but does 
not cheer. But no, eveiything was perfectly quiet and 
orderly. There was nothing exciting and scarcely anything 
interesting about it. I was bitterly disappointed. I did 
not crave a riot or much disorder, but a little more excite- 
ment would have seemed appropriate. In its air of solem- 
nity it reminded me of the examinations at our school. 

I can safely say that it does not hurt any woman to go 
to the polls, it only makes her take a more serious view of 
life for a time. 

They will tell you that they do not have cyclones in 
Colorado, but to the uninitiated ears of the traveller the 
fearful wind-storms which rock the brick houses like cra- 
dles are alarming. The first night that you are awakened 
by this soothing lullaby you see the great virtue of the dug- 

You realize that these Coloradians are reckless creatures, 
and ought to have a danger that they perhaps have become 
too familiar with pointed out afresh. But after awhile, as the 
wind continues to rage and nothing happens, you get used 
to it. 

They will tell you too that they never have rain-storms, 
and they do not, but they have every other variety; hail- 
storms, snow-storms, wind-storms and sand-storms. And 
they do come up so unexpectedly ! 

You are sitting on the porch. All is serene and calm. 
The sun shines brightly, and you have trustingly brought 
your work and books and settled yourself and your friends 


comfortably for the morning, when suddenly you hear a 
terrific roar, and look up to see men, women, children and 
baby-carriages whirling down the street like leaves before 
an autumn wind. The invalids, who are enjoying the air, 
are hastily snatched in-doors by their friends, and soon there 
is not a soul in sight save a few poor, belated bicycle riders 
huddled up against a fence, desperately clutching their 
beloved wheels, the ruling passion, strong in death. 

But with all its cyclones and sand-storms, with all its 
many peculiarities, I bid farewell with regret to Colorado. 
Kinder, more hospitable people I never met. They are 
thoroughly advanced; their schools are fine, and all the 
teachers get excellent salaries. In the high school they 
teach drawing, French, German and music free of charge. 
The manual training school is complete in every depart- 
ment. They keep up with all the latest topics and fads of 
the day. I have even seen a horseless carriage in the 
streets. At present they are much interested in the South, 
and have strong hopes of a new power built up by the 
combined interests and energies of the West and South 
against the Northern capitalists. 

With all this I am not prepared to say " Go West, young 
man." There is a sad lack of confidence in the Eastern 
youth, and the slight superiority he displays when he first 
arrives is speedily subdued by the lack of attention he 

The society both in Denver and Colorado Springs is com- 
posed of wealthy and, for the most part, cultivated people. 
The residences in both places are handsome, and some of 
them are magnificent. Between Denver and Colorado 
Springs there exists an intense rivalry, although there 
is no reason why there should be, as the two places are 
totally different. Denver is a large, busy city, and Colo- 
rado Springs a small, fashionable summer resort, largely 


inhabited by Englishmen, and called often "Little Lon- 
don." With its frame houses, broad streets, and, won- 
der of wonders, many trees, it reminds one of a Southern 
town. Here the curfew tolls every evening at eight, and 
all the children under fourteen are compelled to be in their 
homes. As the town is principally a health resort, no bells 
are allowed to ring on Sundavs, and the noise of the factorv 
is never heard. 

And now farewell, Colorado, bright, sunny, glorious 
Colorado. They tell me that I shall yearn to come back; 
that my own land will seem dark and cold, but I will risk 
it — a la Richard Harding Davis — little old North Carolina 
is good enough for me. Henrietta S. McVea. 


Until the great Centennial, held at Philadelphia in 1876, 
Japan was to Europeans and Americans almost an unknown 
land ; then she began to reveal her secrets to the world. 
Every year our interest in the little island country has 
increased, and since her recent troubles w T ith China she has 
become the object of admiration to all nations. 

With Japan this is the age of danger and confusion, for 
the old nation is passing away and a Xew Japan, with its 
railroads, telegraphs and electricity, is arising. Certainly 
it gratifies our pride to see this Oriental nation so rapidly 
becoming westernized, but it is the old nation, the land of 
surprises, that excites our interest. Thanks to Isabella 
Bird, Sarah Duncan and Sir Edwin Arnold, we have delight- 
ful accounts of the country, with its profusion of flowers, 
its tiny, dainty houses, and its queer little people, with their 
dances, their garden parties and their tea-drinkings. 


We have wandered with Arnold among the purple moun- 
tains; we have seen the shores gay with scarlet lilies, the 
hill and road-side covered with the azaleas and amaryllis 
of spring, and with the camelia blossoms of autumn. Above 
all, we have discovered through all these travellers a thou- 
sand new beauties in that wonderful national flower of 
Japan, the chrysanthemum. 

For a true picture of the country and its people we leave 
the larger towns as Yokohama and Tokio, which have 
already become westernized, and turn to the village, for 
one could not find a more enticing place, so our fireside 
travels tell us, than a Japanese village. The queer little 
houses, with their thatched roofs projecting like big um- 
brellas, and their little paper windows, look more like doll- 
houses than the homes of people. Every house has its 
garden, and this, however small, is laid out in landscape 
style, with diminutive mountains, lakes, water-falls, dwarfed 
trees and bridges for fairies to cross. This intermixture of 
verdure contributes greatly to the gay appearance of the 

On a dark night every village, town or city is ablaze 
with lanterns of an ornamental character, and at the mid- 
summer lantern festival all the graves and the little straw 
boats, in which the spirits of the deceased are thought to 
take their departure, are decorated with paper lanterns of 
every hue. 

Fans may be found everywhere, in the shops or in the 
houses, for these are indispensable articles. Among the 
men the fan answers a variety of purposes — it serves the 
dandy instead of a cane, the pedagogue instead of a rule 
for the offending school-boy's knuckles, and is more fre- 
quently used as a screen from the sun and a protection from 
the rain than the familiar Japanese parasol. A fine lady 
would no more appear without her fan and hair ornaments 


than a Western belle would appear without mammoth 
sleeves and a skirt eight yards wide. 

But these little people are interesting not only from their 
daintiness and freshness, but because Japan, although 
young to us, is really one of the old civilizations of the 
world and, like all other ancient civilizations, has its own 
peculiar literature and art. 

For the art of Japan we do not have far to seek ; it is 
all about us, on the fans, scrolls and screens which decorate 
our sitting-rooms and the dainty little tea-cups in which 
we serve tea or chocolate to our friends after that pretty 
custom of the Japanese. Mrs. Bird, Sarah Jeannette 
Duncan and Sir Edwin Arnold can tell us scarcely any- 
thing about these which we do not already know. What 
comfort we have derived from a Japanese fan on a summer 
day — its funny ladies and impossible reptiles seem almost 
beautiful to us then! How dainty the tiny parasols and 
screens have made our homes, and how many hours we have 
spent in elucidating the pictures on them. 

Beautiful flowers, ugly monsters and playing children 
are jumbled together in that happy, careless fashion, char- 
acteristic of this people, and the gossiping ladies smile 
complacently from under their parasols, utterly regardless 
of the grinning monsters near them. The Japanese imag- 
ination has formed an endless variety of brilliant designs, 
all bearing the stamp of the purest and most ingenious 
taste, and the artist has set aside all restrictions by rule or 
method and taken Nature for his sole and constant guide. 
He investigates all of her intricate mysteries ; it is in the 
spider's web that he loves to stud} r geometry ; the marks of 
a bird's claws furnish him with a design for ornamentation, 
and to him the ripple on the surface of the water is the 
most perfect curve. Nothing in creation, not even a blade 
of grass, is unworthy a place in his art. 


In literature, as in art, is expressed the sentimentality 
which characterizes the Japanese. The beautiful, the 
strange, the grand, even the grotesque in nature excite in 
them feelings of sympathy, longing inspiration and awe ; 
and the walls of the tea-houses are adorned with poems in 
praise of nature. The poetry, like the people, is delicate 
and graceful, expressive of their feelings either of pleasure 
or of sorrow. Lyrics and odes are numerous, but there are 
no great epics or didactic forms, for with them poetry was 
a pastime rather than an art. Some of their poetry is 
written in figurative language without rhyme or rhythm, 
and many of the couplets contain more truth than poetry: 

" An arrow aimed at a private soldier sometimes slays 
a general." 

"A chance word is often more effective than a pre- 
meditated speech." 

But not all of their poetry is written in this style, for 
the greater part of it is devoted to love. One unfortunate 
lover exclaims : 

" I met my love and talked with her until the moment 
of parting, 
No sooner had I quitted her presence than I remem- 
bered a thousand things I had left unsaid." 

Many an American lover, we fancy, will echo the senti- 
ment of the unlucky Japanese. Nor could anything be 
more tender than these lines addressed by a devoted hus- 
band to his absent wife : 

" The years have come and gone and I am still weeping 
for thee, my beloved, 
My tears fall day and night like the waters of the 


But the genuine light-heartedness of the Japanese is 
expressed in a little love-song the maiden sings to her three- 
stringed guitar as she gaily trips along, her body swaying 
from side to side with that amusing but graceful movement 
peculiar to these fresh-looking little girls: 

" First 'twas all a jest, 

Then 'twas daily duty, 
Now 'tis at its best 

True love tender beauty: 
Both quite love possessed." 

With a people so addicted to love-poetry, we might fancy 
that the novel would play an important part, and from the ' 
earliest times we find this form of literature popular; as 
in European works of the same description the reader is 
introduced to a hero and heroine whose adventures make 
up the romance. The best known of these is "The Loyal 
Ronins," based on the story of "The Forty-seven Ronins," 
the oldest of their dramas. From " The Loyal Ronins " 
we learn much about the queer customs of the Japanese. 
Very pathetic to us is the submissiveness of the w r ife, who 
always addresses her husband as "Honorable husband," 
and who has not a single complaint to make when that 
honorable husband chooses to divorce her on the plea that 
she "talks too much," but quietly leaves her home and 
feels under many obligations for being permitted to keep 
her children. • 

But the value of the book is due principally to the pic- 
ture it presents to us of domestic life in every detail. We 
are carried with them into their houses; we see the differ- 
ent articles of the lady's toilette, and hear the conversation 
between husband and wife. We see expressions of the love 
and respect the son feels for his aged parents, and are not 
a little surprised at many things w T hich this book reveals 
to us of the character and manners of the Japanese. 

48 • ST. MARY'S MUSE. 

The women of Japan especially deserve notice. They 
are small but attractive, and some of them even pretty, 
with such charming manners and gentle voices, that we 
wonder how they could have developed so much sweetness 
in their disadvantageous surroundings. Nowhere are wives 
more faithful, and no country possesses more moving love 
stories than Japan. 

When reflecting on the many hidden beauties contained 
in the art and literature of this wonderful country, we can- 
not but echo the sentiment of Sir Edwin Arnold, who asks : 
"Where, except in Japan, can be found such a conspiracy 
to be agreeable; such pretty picturesqueness of daily exist- 
ence; such lively love of nature and such delight in the 

beautiful and artistic?" 

Margaret V. Hill. 


Sunny Italy, the Land of Dante and Beatrice, of Petrarch 
and Laura, Italy, the treasure-store of song and story, is 
the fairy-land of the English people. To those smiling 
skies, to that paradise of birds and flowers, to that home of 
music, sculpture and art, the poets of a less famous clime 
have ever turned with inexpressible longing. 

From Italy Chaucer drew the inspiration of his " Canter- 
bur} 7 Tales," there Shakespeare found the scene and plot 
for some of his masterpieces, and even Milton, stern Puri- 
tan as he was, caught the echo of the great Italian Dante's 
mighty poem. Then, too, our poets have not been content to 
gaze from far across the waters toward this sunny land, but 
manv of them have made their homes beneath these sum- 
mer skies. There Shelley spent the last years of his bril- 
liant, vet saddened life; there Bvron made a lull in his 


stormy career; there Robert Brownnig prepared a happy 
home for his poet wife. 

No wonder that for us even the name has magic, and 
that we English and Americans have entered so heartily 
into the celebrations in honor of Italy's great masters. In 
1831 and 1874 we joined Italy in celebrating the fifth cen- 
tennial of Dante and Petrarch; in 1820 we raised our voices 
in commemorating Raphael; and in 1895 we helped to 
do honor to the quadra-centennial of Tasso's death. 

Almost every country, in which literature rises to any 
height, is the proud possessor of an epic, and Italy, brilliant 
in music and art, rich in sonnets and lyrics, brought forth 
in Tasso, the poet destined to make the name of Italy more 
famous by crowning all her literature with a great religious 

The composition of an epic on the adventures of Rinaldo 
gained the admiration of the Duke of Ferrara, who invited 
the young poet to the court, and there the seed of Tasso's 
misery, loneliness and unjust suffering was sown. For in 
those days no Italian was without his lady-love, and Tasso 
was no exception. But alas! he aimed too high. Dante 
and Petrarch loved, and were content to gaze from afar on 
the object of their affection, but love, which lighted their 
hearts and lives, was to Tasso the cause of all his sufferings. 
He could not be satisfied to think that the princess was to 
be only loved, and that he could never posses the jewel of 
Ferrara. In Goethe's beautiful poems Tasso exclaims: 

" I'm hers: possessing she shall fashion me. 
For her my heart hath garnered every treasure. 
Oh! had some heavenly power bestow'd on me 
An organ thousandfold, I scarcely then 
Could utter forth my speechless reverence." 

Driven from the court, he wandered in disguise, and 
under the lashes of misfortune, his mind, scarcely balanced, 



gave way. Restless, disappointed, weak, sensitive, suffer- 
ing from wounded pride and lost hopes, he found peace 
only in his literary efforts; but to add misery and vexation 
to his sad lot, while suffering most from his mental malady, 
his poems were seized, and given to the world without his 

While languishing in a dungeon, despised, neglected, 
deafened by the shrieks of his insane companions, he 
poured forth most of his beautiful minor poems. 

Tasso, strong of genius, weak of will, suffering from the 
bitter pangs of an unjust imprisonment, rouses our sympa- 
thy and draws us near to him, but in his works the 
oppressed Tasso disappears, and in his place is a man full 
of the fire of genius, but Italian to the core of his heart. 
The popularity of Tasso lies in the fact that he chose for the 
subject of his epic " Jerusalem Delivered," for at that time 
Europe was burning with the fire and zeal caused by the 
Crusades; she was glowing with enthusiasm, and full of the 
war between the Christian, knights and the "dark powers 
of enchantment." The scene of the "Jerusalem Delivered," 
so rich in recollections, so dear from its associations with 
all our religious feelings, is one in which the poet's imagi- 
nation might well delight: 

" On two bold hills Jerusalem is seen, 
Of size unequal face to face opposed; 
A wide and pleasant valley lies between, 
Dividing hill from hill: three sides the coast 
Lies craggy, difficult, and high, disposed 
In steep acclivities: the fourth is cast 
In gentlest undulations, and enclosed 
By walls of height insuperable and vast." 

The magnificence of the plan strikes us at our first glance, 
and the whole poem is unfolded to us in the first few lines: 


"The illustrious chief who warred from Heaven, I sing, 
And drove from Jesus' Tomb th' insulting king." 

" The whole course of the poem is entire, simple and 
grand," but the magnificence is here aud there relieved by 
delicately tinted pictures, which contrast strongly the awe- 
inspiring portraits of "Pluto," his companions, and the 
heathen hosts. As we read the poems we see in the dis- 
tance the host advancing, the clouds of dust rising, the 
fiery flashes of their polished arms, and the onward, stead3 T 
march of the Christian knights. 

We hear the glad shouts of the Crusaders as the towers 
and turrets of the Holy City come in sight, and we rejoice 
with them as they press toward the goal of all their hopes: 

"Lo, tower'd Jerusalem salutes the eye! 

A thousand pointing fingers tell the tale, 
' Jerusalem ! ' a thousand voices cry, 

'All hail Jerusalem! ' hill, down and dale 
Catch the glad sounds and shout, 
'Jerusalem, all hail!' " 

We, too, as inheritors of the rich stores of English lit- 
erature, have our great religious epic, and in speaking of 
the glories of Italy and the quadra-centennial of Tasso's 
death, our minds naturally revert to Milton's " Paradise 

Like many of the masterpieces of northern literature, 
its cold majesty contrasts strongly the warmth, the fire, the 
light of the great Italian epic. In a sunny land, beneath 
the glowing, southern summer skies, colors vie with each 
other in brilliancy, nature infuses her gay spirit into man 
and gives him a love for gorgeousness. The Italian operas, 
full of brilliancy, lightness and life; Italian art, with its 
flashing, rich coloring, and the vivid Italian poetry, make 
a sharp contrast to the majesty, sublimity, coldness, and 


fainter coloring, so characteristic of the art, music and lit- 
erature of the less fortunate northern land. Milton is a 
striking representation of the north, and Tasso of the 
tropical genius. 

Milton's fondest dreams were realized in the " Paradise 
Lost." The meditation of long years and the revelation 
of old age had prepared the soil and seed, and the beauti- 
ful flower budded and blossomed and unfolded its beauties 
to mankind, when our epic poet was in " darkness and 
with dangers compassed round — and solitude." 

The two great hindrances which fettered Milton are his 
dealing with superhuman beings, and the sad end to which 
the poem tends. 

Mournfulness inexpressible fills us as the delicately tinted 
picture of our first parents, their paradise lost, is unveiled 
to us." All hope, all dearest to them lost, and — 

" They hand in hand with wandering steps and slow, 
Through Eden took their solitary way." 

Very differently does the "Jerusalem Delivered " end; 
excited by the Christian triumphs, our interest and enthu- 
siasm kindling, kindled and blazing forth, we rejoice and 
raise our voices in the glad shouts of the victorious knights 
as the heathen host is trodden down, as our Lord's tomb is 
rescued from Pagan hands: 

"And as yet there glowed 

A flush of glory in the fulgent West, 
To the freed City, the once loved abode 

Of Christ, the pious chief and armies pressed, 
With all his knights in solemn cavalcade 

Hung up his arms, his bannered spoils displayed, 
And at the sacred Tomb, his vow'd devotions payed." 

For pleasure we love to roam over hills and revel in 
their wild beauty, but to behold the majestic works of 


nature we scale the lofty mountains, we climb to the 

So it is with the epic. It justly deserves the highest 
rank of all classes of poetry, of all the varied productions 
of the human mind, for it is the noblest, the grandest, 
the most lasting of harmonious creations. 

Loula Hall Briggs. 



A very pleasant work-room it is with its large windows, 
long table, numerous chairs, its book-cases, its blackboards; 
and pleasant though sometimes hard work has gone on 
within its walls. Here our Biology class of ten girls has 
spent many interesting hours, listening to lectures, dissect- 
ing specimens, making drawings from nature, and, best of 
all, having talks. " Nothing but scientific language," is 
our motto, but mottoes are not always kept, by any means, 
and much talk that is not scientific goes on at every meet- 
ing. The lectures we hear are always interesting, well 
illustrated as they are by blackboard and microscope ; but 
often these lectures merge into talks which, although not 
scientific, contain something within themselves worth a 
great deal to us. We all have a chance to make ourselves 
famous, so our teacher tells us. Will any of us do so I 

We often make excursions into the woods to obtain speci- 
mens for study, and what good times we have to be sure ! 
The usual preparation consists in the donning of abbre- 
viated skirts, and the collection of tin buckets, nets, chlo- 

54 ST. MART 8 MUSE. 

roform bottles of course, and all the other articles neces- 
sary for such a journey. We trudge along happily, climb 
fences cheerfully, and tear our dresses indifferently, never 
thinking of the poor mothers at home who will groan over 
the many stitches to be taken. At last we reach the goal 
of our ambition, a small stream — for most of the insects 
we desire live in the water — there we stop and begin our 
search. Many things we find; but some are of no use to 
us, so these we put back in their pleasant home, while the 
rest we consign to new quarters not quite so pleasant: 
namely, the tin buckets. At last we turn our steps home- 
ward, tired indeed but successful! 

I do not think there is one girl in our class who will not 
look back, in after years, upon the hours taken up with 
Biology work, in-doors and out, with the greatest heartfelt 

But the Biology meetings only occur once a week, and 
in the meanwhile work of a very different kind is going 
on. What next? Isn't Botany a pleasant study ? Work 
in that class goes on in much the same manner, only its 
meetings are oftener, and therefore more can be accom- 
plished. That the blind see might well be applied to any 
one who has studied Botany for a few months. It is really 
surprising how little one notices who has never had his 
attention called to the beauties of nature. How often we 
pass about this world with our eyes close shut to the many 
wonderful things growing at our very feet; and then, when 
our eyes have been opened, what a marvellous change has 
passed over everything, it seems almost as if we had slipped 
on rose colored spectacles, and were gazing upon a world 
of new and beautiful colors. 

Botany work is quite as pleasant as the Biology work ; 
the only difference is, in the one we study flowers, in the 
other insects, including the lower organisms of plant life. 


But one great attraction Botany has which Biology has 
not, is the delightful occupation of pressing and mounting 
specimens of the flowers we study. To get these we take 
long tramps in the woods, just as we did in Biology, and the 
result is often surprising even to our teacher. How many, 
many beautiful flowers do we find hidden in damp, mossy 
places, lifting their heads in modest grace from the cool, 
dark verdure around them, and listening, no doubt, with 
sincere pleasure to our cries of delight, when we at last 
happen upon them; the feathery fern waving its green 
pinions gracefully in the breeze ; the fragrant heartleaf, 
with its dear little pitchers, soon to become perfect flowers; 
the dainty Solomon's seal, showing its head of small white 
blossoms in such pretty contrast to its large green leaves. 
And then the pleasure of mounting them! How pretty they 
look upon the clean white paper, and what fascinating 
work it is, pasting the white strips across them which hold 
them in place. With how much pride we exhibit our 
" herbarium " to our friends, listening complacently to their 
warm expressions of approval. Certainly Botany work is 
very delightful; we would advise any seeker after pleasure 
to find it at once by taking up that study. 

Even the children are not left out in our science course, 
for they have their Botany, or Nature Study, as they call it, 
also. Although they do not go as deep into the study of 
the flowers as we older girls do, nevertheless they are taught 
to keep their eyes open, and lose nothing of nature's great 
beauty. They enjoy it with the strength and intensity 
natural to children, and as they grow older enter more 
and more deeply into the study of God's wonderful and 
mysterious works. Frances V. Womble. 




"The Education of Women" is a much disputed point. 
Whether women should be as highly educated as men, 
what kind of education a woman should have and what a 
woman's place in the world should be, are questions that 
have been argued since the beginning of civilization. 

Should not woman be as highly educated as man ? A 
woman's education should be different from a man's, but 
should it not be as perfect in its way ? Men and women 
have each their place to fill, and each should be educated 
in the way which best enables them to perform their duty 
thoroughly. In ancient days the education of girls was 
almost entirely neglected, but great attention was paid to 
training the boys both mentally and physically. No won- 
der that the men were superior to the women in all respects, 
for the women had no chance to show their true worth. 
But the colleges for women are gradually becoming more 
and more like the colleges for men. Women are rising to 
their proper height, and are offered all the advantages that 
men have. Let them make the best of their opportunities, 
which the woman of early days did not have, and let them 
develop their minds and character by means of the best 
education that it is in their power to gain. 

Of what nature should a woman's education be? Ruskin 
is inclined to think that a woman requires no particular 
knowledge of anything, but a general knowledge of all 
important subjects, so that she may be a helpmate to her 
husband, and fulfil her duty as a wife and mother. But 
Ruskiu lived in England, where people who are born 
wealthy, remain wealthy, with few exceptions, all their 


lives, and people who are born poor, have to look forward 
to a life of poverty, and where we can tell from child- 
hood what our position in life will be. Here in America 
it is different. People who are poor one day, are rich the 
next, and one whom we have always looked up to only 
because he was so rich, we suddenly hear of as a ruined 
man. Accordingly, we must be ready for emergencies. A 
general knowledge will not be sufficient for us. 

I have heard the story of a girl who was married. She 
did not love her husband, and she married him only 
because her father had said that he was tired of taking care 
of her, and she had no way of supporting herself. What 
her end was, I do not know, but it must have been a mis- 
erable one. Therefore, it seems to me, that it is better for 
a woman to prepare herself, so that she will be able, if nec- 
essary, to make her own living, and be entirely independ- 
ent, not obliged to ruin her life by a marriage without love. 
Men do not learn a little about medicine, law, the ministry, 
etc., but they choose one profession, and study it carefully. 
Why should not women do the same? Why cannot women 
employ all their faculties, and perfect themselves in one 
direction? Why should they be obliged to learn a smat- 
tering of everything, which can be of very little use to them, 
and to cramp their minds, simply because they are women? 

I do not think it is necessary for girls to study Higher 
Mathematics and such studies, unless they are preparing 
to become teachers. "Cuibono?" They puzzle their brains, 
sit up late at night, perhaps endanger their health, and 
then go away from school and forget it all. Often a girl 
can obtain a kind of education from flowers and birds and 
nature, that nothing else can teach, and that she will value 
far more than any other knowledge. I do not mean taking 
a book and learning the long names of hundreds of flowers, 
or learning the different classes of animals, the warm- 



blooded and the cold-blooded, the feline tribe and the 
canine tribe, etc. This can do a girl no good. But I 
mean really studying nature, going in the woods and lis- 
tening to the voices of the brooks, flowers, trees, birds, and 
all the other voices of nature. And if we will go with love 
of nature in our hearts, and if we are in sympathy with 
bird and brook, tree and flower, we can find a beauty and 
a tenderness that will teach us more than all the school- 
books we can study. 

" To him who in the love of nature holds 
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks 
A various language." 

And now what is a woman's place in the world? Woman 
has her place as well as man, but what is it? A woman's 
place in the world varies, but in all cases she should make 
the home and be man's guide and helpmate. A woman's 
place is more important than a man's, for a woman can 
support herself and be entirely independent, but can a man 
make much progress in the world without the guiding 
comfort and sympathy of woman ? A man comes home, 
troubled with the worry and work of the day, and then the 
office of woman is to cheer and elevate him. One of her 
most important offices is to alleviate pain, pain of mind as 
well as body. She should prepare herself for these duties. 
She should begin, even in childhood, to cheer and comfort 
and to relieve pain. 

But whatever a woman does, let her keep her own place. 
When a woman begins to vote, and becomes a man in every- 
thing but name, although a very inferior order of man, 
she degrades the name of woman and gives up her proper 
sphere. To me, however, the "New Woman" does not sug- 
gest bloomers and voting, but a woman who, still possess- 
ing all the tenderness and delicacy of the sex, is not weak 


and dependent, but is strong in her own dignit} 7 and the 
knowledge of her position, and who is able to do her duty 
without hesitation and without complaint. 

Christiana Busbee (Junior A). 



Care is always taken that the future queen of a nation 
is well educated in all arts and sciences, that she may make 
a wise ruler, a success of her reign, and a prosperous nation. 

Every woman is to be a queen and she must be trained 
and fitted for her position. She may be the queen of a 
nation, she may be the queen of her community, or she 
may be the queen of an humble home; yet she is some 
day to be queen of something, so she must be educated 
and trained for her queenship. 

But which of these queens she is to be we do not know, 
so she must have a training to fit all of the positions. 

Shakespeare's idea is that woman is to be peerless, cour- 
ageous and faultless, but his woman is not the human queen 
we want. 

Scott's women are graceful, dignified and tender, dying 
if need be to elevate a worthless lover, but not the queen 
who lives to encourage and lead man to a higher and 
nobler life. 

From Dante we get the idea that women are nearer the 
angelic sphere, and that they may be worshiped and ad- 
mired from afar off, yet acting as inspirations and guides, 
even through the Realms of Shadows, Purgatory and Hell, 


and at last into the glories of Paradise; but our queen is 
not to be superior to her king — man. 

As we approach the Greek idea of women, we see some- 
thing of what a modern woman should be. In Andro- 
mache, the wife of Hector, there is a motherly and wifely 
influence spread everywhere, and in Hector a true devotion 
towards her. Listen to his parting words : 

" Sorrow not thus, beloved one, for me, 
No living man can send 'me to the shades 
Before my time ; * * * * 

But go thou home and tend thy labors there — 
The web, the distaff, — and command thy maids 
To speed thy work." * * * 

Now that we have seen the ideas of some of the greatest 
men of the world concerning woman's value to man, let us 
consider what our queens are to be. They are to be courage- 
ous and pure, like Shakespeare's women; they are to be like 
Scott's women, for what is character without self-sacrifice ? 
They are to be like Dante's Beatrice, guides and inspira- 
tions, not through Hell and Paradise, but through this 
troubled world to a higher life. And to be like these, the 
girl must be given a general knowledge of the things of 
this world and of the better world. 

Teach her to know the human heart that she may be the 
queen of a nation. .Teach her some special branch of edu- 
cation that she may be queen of her community. Teach 
her love, patience, obedience and piet} r that she may be 
the queen of an humble home. 

Annie Shaw (Sen. B). 



The fall of the rat is accomplished, 

It came to a crisis last night, 
When tired of victory below stairs 

He boldly ascended a flight. 

After annoying the inmates 

With his mad and freakish "lark," 

He became the victim of a shower of shoes, 
Hurled wildly into the dark. 

Then followed a shriek of terror, 
The rat had jumped on the bed 

Of a timid and nervous maiden, 
And she almost lost her head. 

The sound of a match struck quickly, 
Then a giggle, but half suppressed, 

And out of her alcove the teacher 
Came, in a red wrapper dressed. 

Then up sprang the valiant maidens, 
Except those to slumber inclined, 

And armed themselves for the battle 
With everything they could find. 

Umbrellas, rugs and curtain-rods, 

A towel, a bottle, a shoe; 
Madly they seized these objects, 

And as madly the objects flew. 

Hours and hours the battle raged, 

The rat his audacity rued, 
But still he dodged and eluded their grasp, 

And still they hotly pursued. 


Till at last he was caught in a curtain, 
And held there firmly and tight, 

While he was beaten soundly, 

Then the poor thing took his flight. 

But, alas! for my wounded hero! 

He will trouble our slumber no more, 
For when daylight crept through the window 

He was lying dead on the floor. 


Here lies the rat, 
Not killed by a cat, 

But came to his end 

By the hand of a friend. 
She pummelled him well 
With a wine bottle, 

Then pitied his fate, 

Which was generous, though late. 

Annie K. Barnes. 


Our Commencement is over and well over, and we all 
feel that we have reason to congratulate ourselves upon the 
excellent results of the year's work, which the Concert of 
Wednesday and the exercises of Thursday clearly showed. 
First in order for Commencement week came the large and 
enthusiastic meeting of the Alumnae, held on Tuesday after- 
noon. This meeting was especially called by Mrs. Iredell, 
the President of the Association, and was most pleasant 
and profitable. The gymnasium was beautifully decorated 
with cut flowers, and at five-thirty the meeting was called 
to order. The graduates of '97 and the specialists who will 
not be with us another year were invited to be present and 
the attendance of the former pupils in Raleigh was large. 
All our girls love their Alma Mater, and it is always pleas- 
ant to them to meet at the dear old school to discuss plans 
for furthering the best interests of St. Mary's. Mrs. Iredell 
in her beautiful address gave a graphic account of the work 
she had done in the Eastern part of the State, and told of 
the great encouragement and the loving welcome she met 
everywhere. Particularly delightful was it to her to meet 
such hosts of her school-mates and so many of the pupils 
whom she had taught during her long connection with St. 
Mary's. We who know so well Mrs. Iredell's influence 
over her pupils, and their strong affection for her, can 
imagine what this meeting must have been to them. In 
her talk the President explained her plan of work in regard 
to raising funds for the endowment. She wished to 
form in every Parish a St. Mary's Guild to work for the 
endowment. Each Guild is to take up a note and liquidate 
it in a given time, so that those who feel that they cannot 


sign for one hundred or for five hundred dollars can, by 
co-operating with the Guild, raise the amount in a short 
time. The business meeting was very successful financially. 
After the business meeting the members of the Alumnse 
adjourned to the Studio, where afternoon tea was served and 
a delightful social hour was spent iu chatting over old times 
and old friends, St. Mary's past, present and to come. All 
the visitors were glad of the opportunity of seeing the beau- 
tiful art exhibit and of seeing the real collection of papers 
and of work in Science, Literature, Mathematics and French. 
The herbariums were beautiful, the variety of specimens 
and their careful and tasteful arrangement reflected great 
credit on both the classes in Botany and Biology, and on 
their teacher. The examination papers in Literature, French 
and Mathematics were of the highest grade in penmanship, 
composition and substance, showing to good advantage the 
results of the advanced methods pursued in these branches. 
The members of the Alumna? at last regretfully said good- 
bye, and separated, carrying with them the pleasantest 
recollections of the meeting and looking forward to an 
equally enjoyable reunion next year. 

On Wednesday evening the parlor was rapidly filled, so 
that after eight o'clock many were unable to find seats, and 
many chose to stand rather than miss the music. Never 
had a school more appreciative and more attentive audi- 
ence, and with such listeners we could not fail to do our 
very best. Concerning this Concert, which we are glad to 
feel was one of the best ever given at St. Mary's, we quote 
from the News and Observer of the following day : 

" ' Brilliant ' is the only word that accurately describes 
the exercises last evening. Such a superb musical feast 
has seldom been accorded the people of Raleigh. It has 
been the aim of Prof. Albert A. Mack, the Director of the 
Department of Music, to gradually raise the curriculum to 



the highest possible standard. That his efforts in this line 
are bearing fruit was most abundantly shown by the Con- 
cert last light. 

"It was an unqualified success. From the time the orches- 
tra struck up the opening number on the programme — a 
Turkish March by Beethoven — to the closing song, ' Forth 
Into the Meadows,' by Misses Such and Patrick, soloists, 
and a well-trained chorus, it was one great flood of deep, 
rich, pulsing music — full of thought and feeling always. 

"It was all very beautiful, and the young ladies on the 
programme acquitted themselves with great credit and with 
honor to the institution which has so carefully and thor- 
oughly trained them. 

" Notwithstanding the great crowd and crush last night 
everybody was in a good humor, and the exercises through- 
out were thoroughly enjoyed. 

" Following was the programme for the envening : 

Grodsky, . 

Orchestra and Piaxo. 

Turkish March 

Piano — Miss Maude Wilcox. 

"The Stars are Shining" 
Mezzo-Soprano — Miss Florence Holt. 

Violin — Miss Ethel Xorris. 

Schubert-Liszt, . . . "Thou Art my Best" 

Piano — Miss Mary Bynum. 

Gregh, ..... "Open thy Lattice" 

Mezzo-Soprano — Miss Loula Briggs. 

Eichberg, ........ Serenata 

Violins — Misses Florence Boylax, 
Sarah Cheshire, 
R. V. Ward. 
Piano — Mr. A. A. Mack. 



Piano — Miss Ethel Waitt. 


Gurlitt, .... "Overture Marionettes" 

Piano — Misses Eva Lee, 

Maude Wilcox. 

Shelley, . . . . " Love's Sorrow" 

Mezzo-Soprano — Miss Florence Holt. 

Raff, ....... Vil lane I la- 

Piano — Miss Eva Lee. 

Dancla, ...... Petite Symphony 

Violins — Miss Helen Smedes, 

Master James Thomas. 

Gounod-Jaell, ..... ""Faust" Waltz 

Piano — Miss Patty Lewis. 

Schubert, .... "Forth to the Meadows" 

Soloists — Misses Olivia Patrick, 

Julia Such. 



Piano— Miss Eva Lee, 

Patty Lewis. 
Organ — Miss Florence Slater. 

Orchestral Class (Violins). 

Misses Florence Boylan, Helen Smedes, 

Pauline Cameron, Windham Trapier, 

Sarah Cheshire, Edna Watson, 

Ethel Norris, R. V. Ward, 

Belle Pescud, Master James Thomas, 

Mr. W. H. King. 

Cymbals — Miss Annie Cheshire. Drum — Miss Annie Root. 
Triangle — Miss Mary Smedes. 

" The violin and orchestral class has been under Miss 
Ward, and Miss Such has had charge of the vocal depart- 
ment. Prof. Mack was assisted in his piano instruction by 
Miss Dowd. Last night's Concert gave evidence of the 
best and most thorough instruction and training in all 
these departments. In time, tone and phrasing the results 
could hardly have been better." 


Seldom have we had such beautiful weather for the 
Commencement exercises, and seldom have the parlors of 
St. Mary's been so thronged as they were on Thursday morn- 
ing, June 10th. Everything was most favorable, the essays 
were good, varied in subject and interesting in style, the 
music was well selected and well rendered, and above all 
the service in the Chapel was wonderfully impressive and 
inspiring. Nothing could have been more appropriate and 
more beautiful than Dr. Marshall's address, which spoke 
direct from his heart to ours. All of the music was fine, 
and the Cantate by Gross, and the Processional, "We March, 
We March to Victory," composed by Mr. Mack for St. Mary's 
girls, both sung with organ and orchestral accompaniment, 
were glorious. 

In speaking of the exercises of Thursday morning we 
again quote from the News and Observer: 

" The } r oung ladies who graduated and received their 
diplomas at St. Mary's School yesterday were : 

" Miss Nannie G. Clark, of Tarboro. 

" Miss Mary M. Hanff, of Raleigh. 

" Miss Lily E. Koonce, of Raleigh. 

" Miss Theodora Marshall, of Raleigh. 

" Miss Isabel W. Pescud, of Raleigh. 

"Things which repeat themselves are apt to pall; but 
this is not always true. It is not true of Commencement 
at St. Mary's. Graduating Day there is always simple, 
ever fresh, and therefore interesting. There is no pander- 
ing to popular applause. Always there is the ease and 
assurance born of modest merit and a cheerful absence of 
the unnatural in these exercises. 

" This was especially true of the exercises there yester- 
day. They could not have been simpler, sweeter, better. 
Every friend of the school must have felt proud of what 
he there saw and heard. 


11 For fifty-seven long years this institution has been in 
existence — during all this time the exercises have been 
held in the same little Chapel, nestling among the stately 
oaks. During this time thousands of North Carolina's 
noblest women have been educated here and sent out to 
bless the world and make it better with their influence. 
But never, during all this long and honorable career, has 
this famous institution shown to better advantage than 
during the Commencement exercises just closed. 

"The programme yesterday morning began with the 
reading of essays by members of the graduating class. 

" To Miss Lily Koonce, the Salutatorian of the class, 
fell the very pleasant duty of welcoming those who were 
present. This she did in a most pleasing manner. 

"In the discussion of the main subject of her essay, 
" The Formative Power of Nature-Studies," she said the 
study of any phrase of nature gives breadth and freedom 
of thought and action. There is a grand simplicity, unos- 
tentation in the man who lives near to Nature's heart. 

" In the child in school nature-study cultivates closeness 
of observation and accuracy of details. The eyes are opened 
to the beauties of the world as never before. The ugly 
and commonplace take on a new beauty and a new glory. 
If you would study a true communistic colony then go out 
and watch the lower animals — spend a day near an ant 
colony. See how these little creatures accomplish b} 7 instinct 
what man spends so many years trying to do — and then, 
perhaps, never does. Nature is all things to all men. To 
each one of us she speaks a varied language and always 
and ever she tells us something new. 

" In her essay — " Greetings and Farewells" — Miss Mary 
M. Hanff said that all nations — both civilized and barba- 
rian — have some form of greeting and farewell. The most 
common is the kiss; in some other countries it is by rub- 


bing noses. The bow is everywhere. The most popular 
mode of greeting in civilized nations is hand-shaking. So 
common has it become that it is to-day spreading to savage 
tribes, and to-day the Esquimau is shaking hands. 

" The hand-shake is an index of character. Different 
forms of hand-shake were prescribed and the heartiest and 
most heartless of all was declared the political hand-shake. 
Words of salutation are used in all countries — inquiries 
after the health and the like. Sometimes they mean some- 
thing, most often they are mere formalities. And yet, the 
greeting and farewell are sacred things — what could be 
more so — the " Good-bye, God bless you." 

" Le Drame de la France et de PEspagne was the subject 
of the essay read by Miss Isabel W. Pescud. It was written 
in French and was most admirably read by the fair young 

" ' The Boy in Fiction' was Miss Teodora Marshall's sub- 
ject. ' What are little boys made of any way ? ' she asked. 
We all know the old saying that little girls are lumps of 
sugar, spice, powder and perfume ; while the boy is made 
of snaps and snarls and little dogs' tails — dirty, sticky, 
thoughtless and quarrelsome. This can hardly be true, 
however, for if it were, boys would not be so nice as we 
sometimes fiud them. 

" Nor can we believe that the boys of long ago were such 
boys as that — certainly if we believe our fathers and grand- 
fathers they were not. They never got their clothes dirty 
or dragged cats around by their tails. Oh, no. They went to 
church with their mother, sat up straight, sang like a siren 
and never got sleepy and tumbled off the seat. They 
didn't even look around at the pretty girls. 

"The boy characters in modern fiction — Thackeray's, 
Captain Maryat's, Mark Twain's and George Eliot's — were 
discussed and criticised. Tom in the ' Mill on the Floss,' 


the essayist declared the true boy — true to life and true to 
nature. But of all boy characters ' Sentimental Tommy ' 
is perhaps the most interesting and hard to be surpassed. 

"'The Work of Two Women' — Mrs. Humphrey Ward 
and Elizabeth Stuart Phelps — was discussed by Miss Nan- 
nie G. Clark. 

" Both of these writers, Miss Clark said, were highly 
educated, having received the most thorough training pos- 
sible. Both are writers of great power, and both are work- 
ing along the same line, dealing with the great problems 
of the human race. But Mrs. Phelps possesses one advan- 
tage. She is perhaps not so highly educated as Mrs. Ward, 
but she is from the people, and can draw them and their 
characteristics with a more deft and faithful pen. Mrs. 
Ward, on the other hand, possesses the superior training, 
and began her work later in life, therefore it is more mature. 
Mrs. Ward is an Englishwoman, and writes from a Euro- 
pean stand-point, while Mrs. Phelps sees the world through 
American spectacles. Both are alike in their desire to help 
mankind, they differ only in their point of view. Both 
have done much for the world, and there is many a woman 
on both sides of the ocean that can rise up and call them 

"At the conclusion of her essay, Miss Clark, as Valedic- 
torian of her class, bid a loving adieu, on behalf of the 
graduates, to their beloved Alma Mater, its Rector and 
teachers and their school-mates. It was a sad duty, simply 
and touchingly performed. 

"The programme for the day was as follows: 

1. Salutatory and Essay — The Formative Power of 


Miss Lily E. Koonce. 

2. The Milkmaid, ..... Coombs 

Soprano — Miss May Jenkins. 


3. Essay — Greetings and Farewells. 

Miss Mary M. Hanff. 

4. Turkish March, ..... Cooper 

Violin — Miss Florence Boylan. 

5. Essay — Le Drame de la France et de l'Espagne. 

Miss Isabel W. Pescud. 

6. La Sarrentina, ...... Mack 

Piano — Miss Annie Shaw. 

7. Essay — The Boy in Fiction. 

Miss Theodora Marshall. 

8. Essay and Valedictory — The Work of Two Women. 

Miss Nannie G. Clark. 

"The exercises in the Chapel began at 12:30 o'clock, with 
Processional Hymn 514, the music of which was written 
by Professor Albert A. Mack, Director of the Department 
of Music, especially for this occasion, and dedicated to St. 
Mary's by the author. It was very beautiful, and was the 
subject of much admiring comment. 

" Then came the reading of the Roll of Honor by the 
Rector, Dr. Smedes. It was as follows : 

"academic department. 

"Jennie G. B. Trapier (98.7), Cecye R. Dodd (98.6), Janie 
S. Pearson, Martha B. Lewis, Frances V. Womble, Isabel 
Busbee (half term), Christiana Busbee, Nannie G. Clark, 
Lily E. Koonce, Sarah S. Root, Nannie Belvin, Olivia B. 
Patrick (half term), Julia H. Harris, Eliza N. Simmons, 
Mary C. Thompson, Rosa Ashe Battle, Annie Webb Cheshire, 
Bettie D. Windley, Margaret N. C. Trapier, Annie Gales 
Root, Isabella W. Pescud, Mary M. Hanff, Ethel S. Dorsey, 
Margaret N. Smedes, Elsie N. Walker, Jessamine M. Higgs, 
Paul Pittinger, Theodora Marshall, Louise Pittinger, Mary 
Smedes, Helen Smedes, Alice Love, Marion H. Virnelson, 
Mary P. Ashe, Fannie S. Sams, Annie Louise Shaw, Ethel 


Worrell (half term), Lena Whitfield, L. Kate Carina dy, 
Bessie Trapier, Mariam Allen (half term). 

"primary department. 

"Josephene Engelhard Boylan (97), Juliet Crews (96), 
Catharine Boylan (95), Katie M. Smith, Hannah Ashe. 

" honorable mention. 

"Honorable mention for good ivork and improvement : Edna 
E. Watson, May L. Jenkins, Caroline M. Means, Olive L. 
Armstrong, Kate McK. Hawley, Annie R. Barnes, Sallie 
Harris, Mary G. Smith, Rosa K. Dughi, Annie M. Dughi, 
Josephine Brown, Nina Green, Myrtle Underwood, Louise 
Urquhart, Belle Moncure, Belle Hay, Ethel Shaffer. 

"Music — Piano : Olive Armstrong, Charlotte Britt (half 
term), Annie Cheshire, Margaret Clayton, Kate Cannady, 
Ethel Dorsey, Fay Glaser, Eliza Hodges, May Jenkins, 
Allie Lee, Caroline Means, Ethel Norris, Janie Pearson, 
Annie Root, Fanny Sams, Mary Smedes, Margaret Smedes, 
Louise Urquhart, Bessie Woodward. 

"Volcal Music: Eliza Busbee, Adelaide Snow, May Jen- 

"Honorable mention in French: Fay Glaser, Elise Walker, 
Margaret Trapier, Mary Thompson, Bettie Windley, Fannie 
Sams, Mary Smith, Sadie Root, Belle Gulley, Olive Arm- 
strong, Elizabeth Montgomery. 

"Honorable mention in Science : Lily Koonce, Mattie Red- 
ford, Kate Hawley, Laura Tonnoffski. 


" First Distinction in Vocal Music: Loula Briggs. 
" Second Distinction: Florence Holt. 
" First Distinction in Music — Piano: Pattie Lewis, Eva 
Lee, Maude Wilcox, Ethel Waitt, Mary Bynum. 


"Second Distinction: Annie Shaw. 

" First Distinction in Violin: Ethel Norris, Florence Boy- 
Ian, Sarah Cheshire, Helen Sraedes, James Thomas. 

" First Distinction in Water-color Painting: Elizabeth 
Briggs, Susan Marshall. 

" First Distinction in Science: Sadie Root, Margaret 

"First Distinction in French: Kate Hawley, Jennie Tra- 
pier, Janie Pearson. 

" First Distinction in Charcoal Drawing: Lucy West. 

" Certificate in Drawing and Painting: Pattie Lewis, Sa- 
die Root. 

" Certificate in Mathematics: Cecye R. Dodd. 

"Certificate in History, Literature, Latin and Botany: 
Frances V. Womble. 

" Certificate in Mathematics, History, Literature, Latin: 
Pattie Lewis. 


" For Best Examination in Musical History: Eva B. Lee. 

" For Special Work in English Literature: Mary L. Jen- 

" For Best Collection in Natural History: Mary Smedes. 

" After the reading of the Roll of Honor the address to 
the graduates was delivered by the Rev. Dr. M. M. Mar- 
shall, Rector of Christ Church. It was a strong, thoughtful 
talk — ornate but terse, full of suggestions enriched by long 
experience. A glowing tribute to St. Mary's and the work 
there being done by Dr. Smedes it was, and at the same 
time it was a fatherly talk to the graduates and students 
and a polished, scholarly address, whose every word was 
worth the close attention and consideration of even the 
most careless visitor. 



"dr. Marshall's address. 

"'My Reverend Brother, Young Ladies of the Graduating 
Class, Teachers, Pupils and Friends of St. Mary's : It is no 
small privilege to to be enabled to participate in the inter- 
esting exercises and sweet services of this day and place; 
nor am I using the language of mere conventional courtesy 
in saying so. It is no small privilege to quit for a while 
the cares and toils of this work-a-day world and on a bright 
June day like this, when all nature is in her most gladsome 
mood, and the very air is redolent with the fragrance of 
flowers and musical with the notes of singing birds, to 
wend our way under the deep shadows of these venerable 
oaks to this hallowed little House of Prayer and to enter 
into the spirit and joyousness of this occasion. It is no 
small privilege for those of us who are older and have 
longer 'borne the burden and heat of the day ' to have our 
hearts gladdened by the happiness and hopefulness of these 
innocent young faces and fair forms, and to sit under the 
spell of the sweet voices that lift us to the contemplation of 
higher and holier things. We recall our own youthful 
days. We share with you the bright hopes and innocent 
joys of this red-letter day in your calendar. 

" ' We can even understand the keen anticipation of 
delight that comes to you at the prospect of an early re- 
union with loved ones at home; and we would feign dis- 
pel, if we might, for this da| T at least, the slightest shadow 
that might mar the serenity of such sunshine with the 
thought of the severance of the ties that for years have so 
closely bound you together as class-mates and as pupils and 
teachers and friends, or with the still more sober sense of 
responsibility incident to the end of one's school-days and 
the entrance upon the severer duties of life. 

"'But these experiences, in a measure at least, might 
have been ours elsewhere. The exercises might have been 


held in Metropolitan Hall or the Opera House, and so 
under circumstances perhaps of greater eclat, of more 
show and parade and popular notoriety. Yet, to my 
mind, at least one of the chief charms of the annual 
closing exercises of this dear old institution is that they 
have never, in all its fifty-five years' history, taken place 
elsewhere than on these grounds and in this sweet little 

" ' St. Mary's has always stood for modest merit and not 
popular show. 

" ' Like a halo of glory the precious influences of our 
holy religion are thrown around her children at their first 
entrance into this modest little sanctuary, and day by day — 
on Sunday and holy day and every day — are they led here 
for prayer and praise to the loving Father and taught the 
beauty of holiness. And at the end, when they are to go 
forth into the busy battle of life, they are again summoned 
here, as on this day, to receive, with their countless tender 
associations, the parting benediction of these hallowed walls. 

" ' This, to some, may seem a small matter. I think it 
means a great deal. It means that St. Mary's is, first of all, 
a school for Christ. It means that while the highest cul- 
ture is not wanting for the mind and body, that while 
music and art and all the other accomplishments that adorn 
and beautify true womanhood, 'that our daughters may be 
as the polished corners of the temple,' that while these 
things receive their due share of attention, still they are 
held as subordinate to the ' ornament of a meek and quiet 
spirit, which is, in the sight of God, of great price." 

" ' It means, in short, the difference between a Christian 
education and a mere secular education. 

"'The question of the day is education with God or 
without God, a creedless school, where the young ma}'- be- 
lieve anything or nothing, or a Christian school, where they 


are brought up 'in the nurture and admonition the of 
Lord,' and grounded in the faith of their fathers. 

" ' I believe there was never a time in the history of this 
country when the outlook was more critical and ominous 
than the present. 

" ' Outside enemies are clamoring at the doors of the 
Church, crying 'Down with it, down with it, even to the 
ground.' It is impossible to misread the leading tenden- 
cies of the age. Let the franchise be practically placed in 
the hands of every one — as is now well-nigh the case — and 
what will the future of the Church and the State be, when 
this great power is wielded by those who have been brought 
up without any definite religious faith ? 

" ' Is it not true that much of the policy of the day is to 
shut God out of our schools as in some quarters He has 
been shut out of the Legislature and commerce? Is it not 
true that in certain schools and universities that pupils are 
taught by those who openly profess unbelief and talk of 
the incarnation and kindred doctrines as 'beautiful myths?' 
And is it not true that if God is left out of our education, 
if the brain is taught and the soul forgotten, we are train- 
ing recruits for the revolutions, the atheism, and the anar- 
chy of the future? 

" 'Matthew Arnold tells us how he heard children ques- 
tioned in a French school, and asked to whom they were 
indebted for their comforts and advantages, their books and 
pictures, their schools and beautiful city. And the answer 
came, 'My country is my benefactor.' God is shut out of 
the schools of France, and we see the result. Said a famous 
French Bishop at a critical period in the history of that 
unhappy country, ' The hope of France is in our mothers.' 
My friends, it is true of every country and at all times. 

" ' Every good man owes the best part of himself to his 
earliest and best teacher — his mother. 


" ' In every age women have mainly made the history of 
the world. Men for the most part have done the deeds, 
but women have made the men and led the men. 

" ' And the sphere of her mighty influence for good or 
for evil is the Home Circle, This is her kingdom. Here 
she has no rival. She reigns supreme. And for the first 
of all she should be educated and trained. Not to enter 
the lists with men in their headlong pursuit of wealth, or 
power, or place ; not for the hustings, nor the platform, nor 
the Legislature, nor courts of law, nor the pulpit, nor even 
for the right of suffrage in parochial elections ; but rather 
for those holy influences of the cultured Christian home, 
where as daughter, sister, wife, mother, she sways the moral 
world as no other force does or can. 

"'To you, my reverend brother, I tender my most re- 
spectful and affectionate congratulations, that these sound 
principles of female education, for which St. Mary's has 
always stood, are to-day better understood and appreciated 
by her friends everywhere than ever before. The Church 
in the Diocese and State seems at last to have awakened to 
a more adequate sense of its obligations to your sainted 
father and to yourself; and every indication points to an 
early realization of hopes long deferred, that the heav}' 
pecuniary burden which, with self-sacrificing devotion, you 
have for long years so uncomplainingly borne, will soon 
be lifted — and thus resting on a more substantial and per- 
manent foundation, this dear old nursery of the daughters 
of the Church will go on in its glorious career of untold 
usefulness with accelerated pace and ever-increasing scope 
and power. Certainly it must be so if I do not greatly 
overestimate the love and loyalty of two generations of 
her children who rise up and call her blessed. 

" 'And to you, also, young ladies of the graduating class, 
I offer my most sincere and heart-felt congratulations. As 


I have stood here on occasions like this, year after year for a 
quarter of a century, and witnessed the award of these 
modest diplomas to the graduating class, the thought has 
invariably occurred to me, I had rather be a Dr. Smedes, 
the instrument and agent of such meritorious awards, than 
to decorate the breast of the most successful warrior that 
lives or has lived. And why? The jewels and stars and 
crosses and badges and decorations that glitter, amid a 
profusion of gold lace, upon the breast of a soldier, mean 
courage and bloodshed and desolate homes, wives made 
widows and children fatherless, countless untimely graves, 
untold suffering and sorrow and sin and crime, and all for- 
sooth that some fellow mortal or puny power may toy with 
the bauble fame for their little day and then pass away. 
What is all earthly glory at such a price? 

" ' Now, on the other hand, what do these little rolls of 
parchment mean? They are meant to accentuate those eter- 
nal principles of right, of mental and moral discipline, and of 
duty faithfully done, that are at the very basis of all that 
is good and wise and holy, of all real human progress and 
blessing and happiness. 

" ' They are a token of industry and diligence and self- 
denial, of obedience to authority and of conscientious faith- 
fulness that bespeak for you severally careers of happi- 
ness for yourselves and of usefulness and blessing to all 
about you. 

"'The great Erasmus, first scholar and teacher of his 
age, taught his pupils to say: ' We boys will always remem- 
ber our Master, Jesus, the Boy of boys.' If I may venture 
to paraphrase this wise counsel of a great man, I should 
say, young ladies, that you cannot adopt a better class 
motto for your subsequent guidance than: ' We girls will 
always remember St. Mary, the patron Saint of our Alma 
Mater and the Woman of women.' 


" ' How dear that name to every Christian heart! What 
a perfect model of all that is pure and holy and of good 
report! And yet how little w r e hear of her in the gospels! 
Honored and blessed as never woman was in being the 
chosen mother of the Son of God, she was content to abide 
at home; pondering God's messages in her heart, minister- 
ing to her Divine Son as in her humble home He ' increased 
in wisdom and stature and in favor with God and man' — 
last at the Cross, first at the empty tomb, looking ever unto 
Jesus and making her whole life subordinate to His love 
and service. 

" ' Young ladies, never forget the glory and dignity of 
womanhood. ' Heaven's last, best gift to man ' ; and never 
forget from whom you get this dignity, even from our Lord 
Jesus Christ. 

" ' It was on a woman's breast that the Son of God found 
earthly refuge. It was to a woman that Jesus gave the 
first news of His resurrection. 

" 'And this, young ladies, is the true mission of every 
Christian woman to teach those around you, the household, 
the busy men, the gospel of the higher life — the Gospel of 
the Resurrection. And better far than the most gifted 
preacher's voice from the pulpit is this done with the still 
small voice of love and gentleness, and sweet temper and 
purity — by that most powerful of all sermons — a good 

" ' Young ladies, I bid you Godspeed. I pray for you 
God's blessing.' " 


RALEIGH, N. C, JUNE, 1898. 



The Use of Folk-song in Music — Annie L. Shew ->_. -.- 1 

F. II. Burnett as a Novelist — Olive L. Armstrong 6 

Sidney Lanier — Margaret IT. Swedes ->- 13 

Dante Gabriel Rossetti— Sarah S. Root --- ... . .-■; — 20 

Two Great Actors — France* IF. Cameron ._. -_. 26 

Tennyson in Relation to Humanity — Jessamine M. Biggs SI 

Four Men whom the World Loves — Kate McK. Hauiey- ■!', 

The Earlier English Lyrists — Sallit B. Harris 42 

Tennyson's Lyric Poetry — Annie K. Barnes --. 48 


The Value of our Chief Periodicals— Josephine Belle Galley 54 

Tennyson as a Poet of Nature — Ethel Worrell- 60 

La Renaissance — Mary G. Smith -_- .A -_.._.... _•--. 65 \ 

Editorial _-. — __._... ._. .. ..___ 69 

Personals — 89 


Raleigh, N. C. 

Enteted at tne Post-office m Raleigh at second-class Rates. 

"T/te Ladies 9 Parlor Shoe Store 9 ' 

Sells only Ladies' and Children's Footwear Exclusively. 


We are specialists aud can give you better goods and prices 
than you can get elsewhere. 

'Phone 169-C. WM. T. HARDING, Prop'r. 


Leading North Carolina Daily. 

In its Forty = fifth Volume. 



0STERM00R | CO., 

Iron Bedsteads, 





116 Elizabeth Street, 


RALEIGH, N. C, JUNE, 1898. 


As the voice was the earliest way which people had of 
audibly expressing their feelings, it is natural that the first 
steps of musical progress should be traced to folk-songs. 

We cannot truthfully say that there is any music in the 
barbaric stage of these songs, although some have thought 
that there are musical tones in the howls of a savage war- 
rior, but as civilization advances, here and there spring up 
strains short and almost unintelligible, which gain in sym- 
metry and meaning with the growth of the nation. 

Music is closely akin to language, in fact it has been 
called "the language of the world"; to each nation it ex- 
presses feeling in its own tongue, to each individual it 
means more than words. Music and poetry develop to- 
gether — one is hardly complete without the other, — both 
depend upon the character and climate of the country to 
which they belong. It is as Wagner has said, music must 
not claim precedence of poetry, nor must poetry exclude 
music, because music is capable of vastly intensifying the 
emotional effect of the words." 

Folk-songs come from the heart of the people — from 
those who sing as they toil, who sing as they rest; perhaps 
no one piece is produced by one man; one person invents a 
beautiful strain, another adds to it, and so it is handed 
down through the ages, touched with the feelings of thou- 
sands, each of whom has made it his own, having added to 
it his heart-felt joy or sorrow. 


"Thus," as it has been said, "the simple voice of song 
travels onward, from mouth to mouth, from heart to heart, 
the language of general sorrows, hopes and memories, 
strange and yet near to every one, centuries old, yet never 
growing older, since the human heart, whose history it 
relates in so many images, remains forever the same." 

Two things,, language and scenery, give character and 
color to folk-songs, for instance, the people of the Highlands 
show in their songs a different spirit from those living on 
the sea-shore. The songs of the hunter are as varied as the 
songs of the sailor. The rugged, somber and oft-times un- 
couth folk-songs of the north stand in strong contrast to 
the gay, melodious and rythmically simple songs of the 

No people could make folk-tunes without having a mu- 
sical impulse, for the likings and tastes of the people, as 
well as their sensibilities, are shown by their musical utter- 
ance, for instance, the music of a savage people is wild and 
like themselves, fierce and barbarous; of a gay, lively people 
spritely and light; of a demonstrative people, full of rythm 
and loveliness; of an earnest or poetical people dignified 
and noble. 

A large number of folk-songs were brought into existence 
by connection with stories, poems, and ballads, and, accord- 
ing to the nature of the people, music was set to them. 

But, whatever the people, we will find by close study, 
that folk-songs are at the basis of all truly national music, 
and that in these simple songs one great master after 
another has found his inspiration. 

The German choral developed from the "Volkslied' : 
(for in times long passed into history there was no differ- 
ence in the so-called secular and sacred music), was the 
firm rock upon which the giant Bach built his vast cathe- 
dral of tone. Beethoven and Mozart, Schumann and Schu- 


bert, each in many of their master-pieces, plainly show the 
influence of the peculiarities of the writers. 

Another illustration of the people's songs is found in the 
art work of the great Chopin. Especially in his Mazurkas 
and Polonaises the national element is very pronounced. 
In order to do full justice to these compositions, and, above 
all, to the capricious Mazurkas, the interpreter must be of 
Polish or related nationality, and to this characteristic 
must be added a grace and subtil ty essentially French, 
making altogether a combination at once unique and far- 
reaching in its effect upon the art music since Chopin's time. 

Chopin recognized every beauty of his native songs. "It 
seems to have been his vocation to express the complaint 
of the soul of suffering Poland in the language of his art." 

The weirdest element which we find in national music 
is that trace left by the strangest of all people, the gypsies, 
and Liszt, the chief exponent of Hungarian music, has 
clearly seen and seized this distinctive note. 

As the Hungarian language is corrupted by foreign races, 
so its music is robbed of its pure nationality by the gypsies. 
The ancient Hungarian melody, full of characteristic rythm, 
lacks ornamental runs and trills, but the gypsy influence 
has made itself felt in a love of decoration and finery. 

Unlike French, German, Italian or English gypsies, who 
take to tinkering, hunting, and fortune-telling for a living, 
the Hungarian gypsies cultivate and make a profession of 
music. They are, however, merely clever imitators, seiz- 
ing upon any music their ears may catch and enveloping 
it with their own ideas, introducing here and there extra 
notes, runs and shakes, and adding their own peculiar bases. 
They wrap music which is not their own with their nation- 
ality. Their nervous temperaments, their flashing natures 
do not allow anything simple or classical; their music, like 
their dress, is full of the brightest colors, dashed here and 


there with runs and trills, which dangle throughout the 
piece like the coarse metal ornaments they wear. 

Every city, town or smallest Hungarian village has its 
gypsy band. Sometimes their leaders do not know their 
notes, and the best of them are usually trained by a wan- 
dering musician of another nation, each member learns his 
part by ear from the leader, and then adds his own entranc- 
ing music to the part. Their songs contain great power, 
they can bring the hardest-hearted Hungarian to tears by 
their music, and each song tells of the character of the in- 
dividual who plays it. 

Liszt, that wonderful master of the piano, has done for 
his own country, Hungary, what Chopin did for Poland. 
He has utilized the music of the gypsies, their style and 
their love of glitter and show in that world-known set of 
piano pieces, called by him "Hungarian Rhapsodies." 
But not alone, here, does this strong influence show itself; 
even in some of Liszt's church compositions the Hungarian 
looks forth, and as Lizst was a man of cosmopolitan mind 
and habits, we often have a strange mixture of French, 
German, and Hungarian elements. 

The gypsy leads us naturally to the Indian. We are 
accustomed to look upon the Indians as a barbarous and 
savage race, so we cannot imagine that there is much music 
in their natures. As we hear them singing around their 
camp-fires, their voices seem to us altogether harsh and 
unmusical, but when their music and musical natures are 
studied, we are surprised to find that some of their songs 
and melodies are well worth comparison with the folk-songs 
of other nations. Their rythm is as complicated as that of 
Chopin, Mendelssohn and Schumann, their time varies from 
£ to f, from f- to f-, two drum beats to one vocal sound. 
We cannot judge their music from what we know of the 
people, for to the white man, the Indian's subjector, they 


are naturally reserved and foreign, and to make a study of 
Indian music is to be their friend, enjoy their pleasures, 
feel their pains and enter into the spirit of their lives; then, 
and onl} 7 then, can we know of the music that lies under- 
neath their hardened surfaces. 

The folk-song, as it is known in older nations, is not easy 
to find in America. Some claim to see it in these songs of 
the Indian, others in the songs of the negro, but this much 
is certain, we do not have many songs laden with the joys 
of the generations long since gone. What such a song 
might be we see in "The Old Kentucky Home." 

Thus we cannot lay claim to a national school of com- 
posers, although there are born in this country those who 
are, in the estimation of the best and severest critics, fully 
the equals of the foremost living European composers. 

Such a one is Edward MacDowell, who is making the 
interesting experiment of utilizing Indian melodies in some 
of his latest orchestral works with the greatest success. 
Should he succeed in striking a new and hitherto unknown 
source of inspiration, and be able to turn the musical 
thoughts of the day in a new direction, we may proudly 
place him along side of those musical nationalists — Grieg 
— Dovrak — Remsky — Korsakoff, — and say that in Edward 
MacDowell we have a truly great American composer. 

Of all the composers who have taken the folk-songs as 
the basis of many of their greatest compositions, no one has 
reached the height of Richard Wagner. 

Annie L. Shaw. 



•Mrs. Burnett, before she became the famous author of 
"That Lass o' Lowrie's," speut her earlier life like any 
other little English girl. She herself tells the story of it, 
as no one else could, in "The One I Knew the Best of All." 
Though she was surrounded by relatives and friends, this 
"Small Person" was cut off from the outside world by a 
high fence which enclosed the square in which she lived, 
for it was then customary for nice people of the same rank 
to live together in these squares. 

Here, in a park, she played games with her little friends. 
Then, when all were tired of play, she would tell them 
stories: a youthful type of stories, in which the hero was 
always a tall brunette, with fierce black eyes, and the 
heroine a rather slender, fair person. 

Then a house in the square was sold, and the square 
became a thoroughfare for the workers in a factory near 
by. Though this admitted a disagreeable element into the 
life of the inhabitants, we can never regret it, since it was 
among these factory-girls that Mrs. Burnett first saw Joan, 
" That Lass o' Lowrie's." She was a beautiful, stately girl; 
and after Frances had once been attracted by her she used 
to watch for her as she passed by, a little later they spoke 
to each other, then they talked and became really ac- 

Frances was an imaginative child, a child like " Little 
Lord Fauntleroy," "Sara Crew," and "Little Saint Eliza- 
beth," whose characters she describes with such truth and 
pathos. She understands child nature so well because her 
own childhood is such a vivid reality to her. Never before 
have we had so delicate an analysis of the mind of a child 
as that given us in "The One I Knew the Best of All." 


Id her preface she says: "I have so often wished that I 
could see the minds of young things with a sight stronger 
than that of very interested eyes, which can only see from 
the outside. There must be so many thoughts for which 
child courage and child language have not the exact words. 
So, remembering that there was one child of whom I could 
write with certain knowledge and from the inside point of 
view, I began to make a little sketch of 'The One I Knew 
the Best of All.'" 

How many of us have had an experience similar to the 
one thus vividly described. 

In a moment of extreme hunger the "Small Person " has 
fallen into temptation and bought a parkin, a spicy thing 
made of molasses and oatmeal and flavored with ginger. 
(It can only be found in Lancashire and Yorkshire). Im- 
mediately horror of her deed overcame her. She felt that 
she had disgraced her family. Her mamma was a lady, 
and her little daughter had gone and bought a half-penny 
parkin on trust. And the Body was mouldering in the 
sideboard, on the second shelf in the little cupboard. I 
think she would have faded away and perished with the 
parkin — but there came relief. 

She had two brothers older than herself. The younger 
of the two was a combative little fellow, with curly hair, a 
belted-in roundabout, a broad white collar, and two broad 
white front teeth. In some moment of severest stress of 
anguish she confessed herself to him. That he berated her 
roundly it is not unlikely, but his points of view concern- 
ing the crime were not as disproportionately exalted as her 
own. His masculine vigor would not permit her to be 
utterly crushed, nor the family honor lost. He was a Man 
and a Capitalist as well as a Man and a Brother. He 
had a penny of his own; he had also a noble and Napo- 
leonic nature. He went to the cottage of Mrs. Rimmer, 


and paid for the parkin. So the blot was erased from the 
escutcheon, and the criminal breathed again. Like Sara 
Crew's, Frances' life was made up of " supposes." Some- 
times, as in the case just mentioned, they made her misera- 
ble; but when the family came to America, for financial 
reasons, they not only made her life bearable but pleasant. 
She needed only a ramble in the woods to cheer her up 
when gloomy; to inspire her when things became prosaic; 
to make her feel young and happy always. 

Into the work which their changed circumstances made 
necessary, she entered with her whole heart. She opened 
a little school, and as the whole community was poor, she 
was sometimes paid in cabbages, carrots or potatoes; which 
were acceptable just then. 

She often looked at her faded silks and wished that they 
might be exchanged for the pretty, fresh calicoes which the 
American girls wore — but — no, she could not afford a calico. 
Gradually she began to realize that their poverty was real, 
and then she conceived the plan of sending one of her 
stories to a magazine. She could write the story easily, 
but on what? She had no suitable paper; and what about 
the postage? Of course she could have asked her "big" 
brother for both, but little Frances was too — well, not ex- 
actly proud, but she knew that he didn't have much 
money; and then she wanted it to be a surprise. So she 
and her sisters picked some wild grapes that grew near, 
paid a little colored girl to sell them, and with this hard- 
earned money bought the necessary articles. 

The first story was accepted, but the young author re- 
ceived as her only compensation a request to be heard from 
again. Since this bold step her career has been one of 
almost unlimited brilliancy and success. 

What has she done to attain her position? What does 
she write? She does not write social, religious or political 


novels; neither does she write the summer novel, the novel 
which has been called, quite appropriately, the hammock 
or lounging novel, the kind that one reads in warm weather 
to rest the brain. She is a novelist who writes about real 
people and their real actions; like Bret-Harte, she writes 
of ordinary life touched with the pathos or humor which 
belongs to it. 

As R. H. Stoddard says, " Mrs. Burnett discovers gra- 
cious secrets in rough and forbidding natures — the sweet- 
ness that often underlies their bitterness — the soul of good- 
ness in things evil." She writes primarily for the story, as 
she herself tells us " The story is my best beloved who has 
staid by me all my life, making dull things bright, and 
bright things brilliant, who has touched the face of all the 
world with a tender hand, who has never deserted me." 
And though the story is not generally deep, it performs 
the good intended by the author, and leaves us in a kind- 
lier humor towards mankind generally, and especially to- 
wards the particular class we happen to have been reading 

We are not conscious of a distinct purpose in "Louisi- 
ana," but when we have finished the tender story we know 
very well that Mrs. Burnett wishes to show us what honesty 
and gentleness are sometimes hidden under the roughest 

Mrs. Burnett delights in light contrasts. In " The Fair 
Barbarian" there is a ludicrous contrast between the free- 
and-easy, unconventional American girl and her prim, 
decorous English aunt, Miss Belinda Bassett, and others of 
her type. They are shocked and almost terrified at Octa- 
via's utter disregard of conventionalities, but after awhile 
they learn rightly to value her sincerity and genuineness. 
Notwithstanding this, we are hardly more than touched 
at Octavia's trials. 


In "Kathleen" we are more than interested from the 
first; with anxiety and hope we watch the complex charac- 
ter of Kathleen unfold itself; but we must believe that the 
pure, unselfish part, the real Kathleen, which was fostered 
by her grandmother, will, in the end, triumph over the 
worldly-minded part, which was chaperoned by her aunt. 

Mrs. Burnett was indeed in her best mood when writing 
this book. She depicts with the gentlest touch the home- 
life of the hero's sister: a very sweet little lady she is, Bar- 
bara Armadale. Fair-faced, blond-haired and clear-eyed, 
and with three absorbing passions which fill up her bright, 
happy, busy life as a bright, happy, busy young wife and 
mother. The first of these passions is for "Alf," or, more 
properly, Mr. Armadale, who is as bright and cheerful as 
herself; the next for the children, whom Mr. Armadale 
calls the baby, the little baby, and the least baby of all; 
and the last, but not the least, is for her brother Carl, 
whom she regards as the most perfect being on earth — 
next to "Alf." Her life was one continued honey-moon, 
because the real honey-moon had been one whose bright- 
ness had been the reflex of her own sunny sweetness and 
affectionate temperament. And this is the lesson Mrs. 
Burnett teaches in all of her books, that character is char- 
acter, no matter where it is, or in what environment. That 
rude and severe as the outside sometimes is, there is good 
in everything and in everybody. 

What she herself says of "Vagabondia " may be said of 
almost any of her books. " It is the story of a light-hearted, 
easy-going, and perhaps light-headed people"; but, if this 
last is true, it is "very evident that their light hearts and 
light heads rose above their knowledge of their light purses." 

Dolly, or Dorothea, the heroine, is not a beauty, but a 
fresh, wholesome little body, whose air of novelty was her 
chief charm. " It isn't the mere fact of being. a beauty that 


makes women popular," she would say, "it's the being able 
to persuade people that you are one — or better than one." 
But this self same Dolly was more of a person than you 
might think. She was the family contriver and nucleus, 
but a very loving and lovable person, and with her other 
qualities her power of love was predominant. 

Mrs. Burnett's characters are real because they are taken 
from nature. They are people she has met, perhaps known 
slightly, and her vivid imagination supplied all that was 

Joan was a real person — the Lancashire dialect is real. 
Here is an instance of it given to some one as a direction: 
Goo to'th loon eend, turn to'th reet, then spar-r, which 
means Go to the end of the street, turn to the right, then 

"That Lass o' Lowrie's" is a story of the development of 
a rude pit girl into a noble woman, symbolizing the possi- 
bility of all triumph over surrounding evil. 

Around the figure of the heroine are grouped with artis- 
tic skill other characters, well drawn and life-like, yet sub- 
ordinate. Joan is well worth being the heroine of any 
book; she is queenly, noble-looking and noble too. 

There was an explosion in the mines; Derrick, the civil 
engineer, was in them at the time. She and a male friend 
of his brought him out, and Joan, by her careful nursing, 
saved his life. Then, when he came to ask her to be his 
wife, she thought it must be gratitude or some similar feel- 
ing that prompted him. So she said, " I cannot — I cannot 

"No, no," he said, "you will listen. You gave me back 
my life. You will not make it worthless? If you cannot 
love me," his voice shaking, "it would have been less cruel 
to have left me where you found me — a dead man — for 
whom all pain was over." 


He stopped. The woman trembled from head to foot. 
She raised her eyes from the ground and looked at him, 
catching her breath. 

Yo'are askin' me to be yo're wife!" she said. "Me!" 

" I love you," he answered. " You, and no other woman !" 

She waited a moment, and then turned suddenly away 
from him, and leaned against the tree under which they 
were standing, resting her face upon her arm. Her hand 
clung among the ivy leaves and crushed them. " I conna 
turn yo' fro' me," she said. " Oh! I conna !" 

" Thank God ! Thank God !" he cried. 

He would have caught her to his breast, but she held up 
her hand to restrain him. 

"Not yet," she said, "not yet! I conna turn you fro' 
me, but theer's summat I must ask. Give me th' time to 
make myself worthy — give me th' time to work an' strive; 
be patient with me until th' day comes when I can come 
to yo' an' know I need not shame yo'. They say I am na 
slow at learnin — wait and see how I can work for th' mon — 
for th' mon I love." 

Mrs. Burnett's reputation was made by " That Lass o' 
Lowrie's." In her later works there is a marked departure 
from her previous line of thought, and a " Lady of Quality" 
presents a unique character in fiction, which the author 
has developed with unwonted power. 

She is now gathering material for a new book which 

those who are nearer her say will greatly strengthen her 

reputation, and that in future she will be known as the 

author of this book, which she intends to call " The Will- 

oby Claim." 

Olive L. Armstrong. 



"Promise touches us as finished success can never do ! 
To the former the mind gives horizons rich and varied as 
sunsets — to the latter the clear light of the definite deed, 
splendid it may be but changeless." 

These words, written by the biographer of John Keats, 
would apply equally well to our own Southern poet, Sidney 
Lanier. Both felt the fire of genius burning intensely 
within them, both struggled valiantly for strength and life 
to give to the world their noblest ideals, and both died 
before the promise of their youth could be fulfilled. 

Lanier makes constant reference to Keats " With angel 
nerves," to him he dedicates some of his finest poetry, and 
in his heart enthrones him with Chaucer, Milton, and Ten- 
nyson. Although these two poets differ widely in some 
respect, yet they have many points of likeness. We would 
expect to find a difference in them from the difference in 
the ages and countries in which they lived. 

Keats, coming at the very beginning of that revolt from 
the barrenness and ugliness of the eighteenth century, feel- 
ing that there must be more in life than the skeptical intel- 
lectuality offered by a Hume or a Voltaire, tried to satisfy 
his soul with an absorbing love of the beautiful: 

"'Beauty is truth, truth beauty,' — that is all 
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know." 

For his ideals of beauty he turned to the Greeks. We 
see his love for the ancient classics even in the titles of his 
poems, the "Ode on a Grecian Urn," "Endymion," and 
" Hyperion." He had the real delight of the Greeks in color 
as color, in form as form; because a thing was lovely was 
to him an all-sufficient cause for its existence: 


"Its loveliness increases: it will never 
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep 
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep 
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing." 

Lanier did not have to go back into the past to find the 
beautiful, it was all about him. His love for nature was 
throughout Teutonic and modern, he wrote about nature as 
he found it in his own Southern land, the broad expanse of 
uncultivated country, the woods, the waving corn, the wide- 
spread, misty marshes were his inspiration. His love for 
the beautiful, unlike that of Keats, was not so much for the 
outward loveliness, but for its deep and hidden meaning. 
Everything, even to the tiniest flower, spoke from its own 
soul to his. As he lies in the forest he tells us: 

"Somewhat like the beating of many hearts came up to 
me out of the ground, and I looked, and my cheek lay close 
to a violet. Then my heart took courage, and I said: 

"I know that thou art the word of my God, dear Violet; 
And oh, the ladder is not long that to my heaven leads. 
Measure what space a violet stands above the ground, 
'Tis no further climbing that my soul and angels have to 
do than that." 

Both of these poets glow with life and color; Keats, in- 
deed, is sometimes almost tropical in his luxuriant word- 
ing, as, for instance, in the " Ode to a Nightingale," where 
he speaks of the vintage: 

"Tasting of Flora and the country green, 
Dance and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth !" 

or of the bird that 

"In embalmed darkness still sings on." 


Could any phrase be more expressive of heavy, hot jessa- 
mine-scented night than "Embalmed darkness"? 

Lanier writes entirely of his own more temperate clime. 
Of "Clover," the "Mocking-bird," "The Drowsy Bee." 
Only one who has lived in the far South can fully appre- 
ciate the delicious descriptions of the trees bearded with 
grey moss rising tall and reverend from the marshes, the 
"braided dusks of the oaks and woven shades of the vine." 

"Beautiful glooms, soft dusks in the noonday fire, — 
Wild wood privacies, closets of lone desire." 

The live-oak seemed especially to appeal to him. Again 
in "Sunrise" he alludes to it: 

" In my sleep I was fain of their fellowship, fain 
Of the live-oak, the marsh and the main. 
The litle green leaves would not let me alone in my sleep; 
Up-breathed from the marshes a message of range and of 

Interwoven with waftures of wild sea-liberties, drifting. 
Came through the lapped leaves sifting, sifting 
Came to the gates of sleep." 
"I have waked, I have come, my beloved! I might not 
I have come ere the dawn, beloved, my live-oaks to hide 
In your gospelling glooms, — to be 

As a lover in heaven, the marsh my marsh and the sea 
my sea." 

Sidney Lanier was passionately fond of music, and his 
knowledge of harmony and musical rhythm is the founda- 
tion of his peculiar poetic metres which so many persons 
find intricate. The instrument he cared most for was the 
violin, but he was forced to give it up because often he 


was so overpowered by the tones be brought from it that 
he would lose consciousness for some moments. His mu- 
sical talent had to express itself, so he turned to the flute, 
and the violin tones which he made from it were beautiful. 
His teacher says "His playing appealed alike to the mu- 
sical learned and to the unlearned — for he would magnet- 
ize the listener, but the artist felt in his performance the 
superiority of the momentary living inspiration to all the 
rules and shifts of mere technical scholarship. His art was 
not only the art of art, but an art above art." 

Lanier's gift was, truly, "Music wedded to immortal 

He believed that the foundation of metre was not the 
accented syllable, but time, just as in music, and with this 
idea in mind he wrote the "Science of English Verse." In 
this his theories are not perfected, but his suggestions are 
most valuable. 

Lanier's privations during the war, in which he served as 
a Confederate private, undoubtedly sowed the seeds in a 
constitution naturally so weak of the disease from which 
he eventually died. 

The whole of his married life was a struggle against 
poverty and his consuming illness. He felt that his life 
would be short, and that every moment was of value, for he 
realized that he had power to write, and felt that he must 
give to the world his best. He knew the genius within 
him, and to comfort his wife in the darkest hour of their 
uncertainty, he writes: "Now I know through the fiercest 
tests of life that I am in soul, and shall be in life and utter- 
ance, a great poet." 

Somewhat of the courage with which he fought against 
hardships and disease is shown in these lines from "Sun- 


"Old Want is awake and agog, every wrinkle afrown; 

The worker must pass to his work in the terrible town: 

But I fear not, nay, and I fear not the thing to be done; 

I am strong with the strength of my lord the Sun: 

How dark, how dark soever the race that must needs be 

I am lit with the Sun. 

Oh, never the most high run of the sea, 

Of traffic shall hide thee, 

Never the hell-colored smoke of the factories 

Hide thee 

Never the reek of the times' fen-politics 

Hide thee, 

And ever my heart through the night shall with knowl- 
edge abide thee, 

And ever by day shall my spirit as one that hath tried thee, 

Labor, at leisure in art, — till yonder beside thee, 

My soul shall float, friend Sun, 

The day being done/' 

Lanier's father wished him to live in Macon on his in- 
come, but the poet felt that he was called to something 
higher, and that he must not fail, so he settled in Baltimore, 
where he could devote all his time to music and literature. 
Several times he had to leave that city and go further South 
to arrest the cough which was killing him; each time he 
manfully returned, improved only enough to struggle on 
again for awhile longer, playing first flute in the Peabody 
Symphony, giving talks on Shakespeare, planning a more 
ambitious work on the "Science of English Verse," or de- 
livering in a voice so faint from weakness that every ear was 
strained to hear those thoughtful and original lectures since 
embodied in the ''' Development of the English Novel." 
He was finally forced to abandon his work, and this time 
he went to the western part of North Carolina and camped 


in the mountains. While there he was asked to write a 
description of that beautiful country, but the work was cut 
short by his death. What new beauties of that glorious 
mountain land might not have been revealed to us by the 
poet, who could touch with such splendor the " Chattahoo- 
chee " and the " Marshes of Glynn." 

Lanier was a deeply religious man, his manner of expres- 
sion was not conventional, but flowers, trees, clouds, all 
spoke to him of God. The lesson the clover teaches is this: 

"God's clover, we, and feed His course of things; 
The pasture is God's pasture"; 

"Kinsman, learn this: 
The artist's market is the heart of man; 
The artist's price, some little good of man. 
Tease not thy vision with vain search for ends, 
The end of Means is art that works by love, 
The End of Ends, ... in God's Beginnings lost." 

To him, as to all true poets, 

"When life's all love 'tis life; 

Aught else 'tis nought, and love is God." 
"God, whom my roads all reach, howe'erthey run, 

My Father, Friend, Belov'd, dear all — One." 

Rarely by poet or artist has the night in Gethsemane 
been more tenderly touched : 

" Into the woods my Master went clean forspent, forspent. 
Into the woods my Master came, 
Forspent with love and shame. 
But the olives they were not blind to Him, 
The little grey leaves were kind to Him: 
The thorn-tree had a mind to Him 
When into the woods He came. 


Out of the woods my Master went, 
And He was well content. 
Out of the woods my Master came, 
Content with death and shame." 

His poems of love are not numerous, but they are all full 
of the deepest feeling, and they are all inspired by one 
woman, and that woman his wife. Her love was an inspira- 
tion, her eyes his Lake of Dreams: 

" In the heart of the hills of life I know 
Two springs that with unbroken flow 
Forever pour their lucent streams 
Into my soul's far Lake of Dreams." 

"0 Love, Wife, thine eyes are the}' — 
My springs — from out whose shining gray 
Issue the sweet celestial streams 
That feed my life's bright Lake of Dreams." 

The world saj r s that Lanier died young, but with him, as 
with Keats; it was "The life of a long life distilled to a 
mere drop, falling like a tear upon the world's cold cheek 
to make it live forever." 

What he says of his ideal poet is true of himself : 

"His song was only living aloud, 
His work a singing with his land." 

Margaret H. Smedes. 



For the most part in this world great men have been con- 
tent to be pre-eminent in one direction, but sometimes we 
chance upon a man like Michael Angelo, painter, architect, 
sculptor, poet; or Leonardo da Vinci, sculptor, painter, 
musician; or Blake, poet and painter. Such a one is Dante 
Gabriel Rossetti. 

It is a name to linger over, a name to conjure with; it 
brings to our minds all the flavor of that glorious Italian 
Age of the Divine Comedy, the conceptions of St. Peter's, 
the frescoes of Giotto, the Madonnas of the Bellinis, and the 
throbbing, enthusiastic Florence of the thirteenth century. 
A man with such a name could not have followed a 
beaten track; it is not surprising that he founded the Pre- 
Raphaelite school of painting and introduced a new and 
poetic element into the world. 

The object of the new school of painting was to revive 
the purity, the simplicity and the richness of tone of Ra- 
phael, to cast aside mannerisms, to paint nature as it is. 
Holman Hunt, Sir John Millais, the two Rossettis, Ste- 
phens, the critic, Woolner, the sculptor, Madox Brown, and 
Sir Edward Burne-Jones are its worthy exponents. 

In standing before the pictures of these men we are awed 
by the deep mysticism, we are held spell-bound by the bril- 
liant coloring and the rainbow hues of the flowers, but 
above all we are charmed by the holiness and sweet purity 
ever shining from the faces on the canvas. 

The wonder of Holman Hunt's picture, "The Triumph 
of the Innocents," consists in the bright, beautiful coloring, 
the rich bloom of the landscape and the brilliancy of the 
garlands of flowers, but through the feeling of mysticism 
and the intense realism, inspite of the fine detail, the joy- 


ous radiance of the Infant Jesus shines clearly, as the Holy 
Child holds out to His companions the ears of wheat, the 
symbol of the bread of life. That same sweet purity shows 
itself in Sir John Millaia' picture, "For the Squire," to a 
greater degree even than in Hunt's faces. As the little 
maid stands holding a letter for the squire, the light falling 
on the peasant bonnet and dress, on the sunny hair, on the 
upturned face of the child in its pure innocence, makes her 
seem no longer a picture, but such a living little one, that 
we involuntarily say, "Of such is the kingdom of Heaven." 

Dante Gabriel Rossetti, the leader of this movement, 
was the son of an Italian poet, who wrote patriotic hymns, 
and who was asked to sing them elsewhere than in Italy. 
Rossetti, always obedient to the law, and especially so when 
an order for his arrest and execution threatened him, has- 
tened to England. Here he met, loved and married the 
daughter of a Tuscan refugee, and settled on 38 Charlotte 
street, where were born the four illustrious Rossettis, Maria 
Francesco, Dante Gabriel, William Michael, and Christina 

This unusual family was a flavor of Italy in England: 
the exiled parents were happy in the success of their chil- 
dren, although occasionally the mother was heard to lament 
that all her children had nerves on the outside of their 
clothes, and that in spite of their talent they had no com- 
mon sense. 

While still young, the brothers and sisters learned to 
love and depend on one another for their happiness. The 
girls sang to their brothers and the boys dedicated poems 
"To my sisters," and when Dante had to choose a model for 
his. Madonna he chose Christina, whose plain features he 
mantles with a divine gentleness and heavenly splendor 
such as only a loving heart can conjure. 

The self-sacrificing Christina was the favorite sister of 


Dante, and to her he was ever loving and tender. These 
two must have been constantly together,' for her influence, 
her poetr}", and her face ever float before us in his tender 

One of the prettiest of these faces is that of the Virgin in 
the "Annunciation." The poet-painter thinks of the an- 
nunciation as coming like other angelic visits, in a dream. 
The picture is remarkable for the strange beauty of its 
color, "the lights and shadows trembling through the hue 
of purity and the hue of love." 

Mary's fairness and spiritual loveliness is best described 
by Rossetti's own sonnet: 

" This is the blessed Mary, pre-elect 

God's Virgin: 
Unto God's will she brought devout respect, 
Profound simplicity of intellect, 

And supreme patience. From her mother's knee. 

Faithful and hopeful, wise in charity, 
Strong in grace, peace, in pity circumspect. 
So held she through her girlhood as it were, 
An angel-watered lily, that near God 
Grows and is quiet." 

Of all these painters Rossetti's pictures are easiest to 
interpret, because his own poems give us the key-note of his 
meaning. How much better we understand his picture, 
" The Blessed Damozel," for the romance and description 
of it contained in his poem: 

"The Blessed damozel leaned out 

From the golden bar of heaven, 
Her eyes were deeper than the depth 

Of waters still at even; 
She had three lilies in her hand, 

And the stars in her hair were seven. 


It was the rampart of God's house 

That she was standing on; 
By God built over the sheer depth 

The which is space begun; 
So high, that looking downward thence 

She scarce could see the sun. 

Heard, hardl} 7 , some of her new friends 

Amid their loving games 
Spake ever more among themselves 

Their virginal chaste names; 
The souls mounting up to God 

Went by her like thin flames." 

Rossetti's heaven is a most earthly one, but did not Mil- 
ton fail in depicting a heavenly Paradise? The poem, 
though simple, is full of that mystical feeling so character- 
istic of the author's work; a poem in which "wild longing, 
shame of life, despair of separation, and the worship of love 
are wrought into a palpable dream." 

Through the endless space, through the great darkness, 
" For the sun was gone," the voice of the blessed damozel 
rang out piteously like the voice the stars had when they 
sang together: 

" I wish that he were come to me, 
For he will come, she said, 
Have I not prayed in heaven ? on earth ? 
Are not two prayers a perfect strength? 
And shall I feel afraid? 

The chief charms of the poem are its peculiar manner, 
its originality and its beauty. 

Reared in the very atmosphere of learning, art, and song 
by his Italian parents, and in a "household over which the 
medieval spirit brooded," is it surprising that the nobleness 


and purity of his great predecessor should have been con- 
tinued in the works of his namesake? 

No more congenial work could have been found for Ros- 
setti than the translations from the early Italian poets, 
"Dante and His Circle." With his Italian nature, with 
his sympathy and love for the sunny home of his parents, 
this work could not but have been a success. Truly has 
the world said that as a translator Rossetti is unsurpassed. 
Everything that he has ever written speaks the true poet, 
but perhaps his greatest skill is shown in his sonnets. In 
the narrow limit of fourteen lines he has expressed the 
deepest feeling with great beauty, making no line barren 
or useless. 

Like all lyric poets, Rossetti reflects his own life, his own 
love, and his own sorrow in his works. His passionate love 
for his wife and his deep sorrow at her death are the 
themes of many of his sonnets: 

"When do I see thee most beloved one? 

When in the light the spirits of mine eyes 

Before^thy face, their altar, solemnize 
The worship of that love through thee made known? 
Or when in the dusk hours — (we too alone), 

Close-kissed and eloquent of still-replies 

Thy twilight-hidden glimmering visage lies, 
And my soul only sees thy soul its own? 

In Rossetti we find a new kind of poetic utterance. As 
Mr. Pater says, "With him indeed dawn, noon, night are 
full of human or personal expression of sentiment. The 
lovely little sceneries- scattered up and down his poems, 
glimpses of a landscape, not indeed of broad open-air 
effects, but rather that of a painter concentrated upon the 
picturesque effect of one or two selected objects at a time, 
the "hollow brimmed with mist" or the " ruined wier," as 


he sees it from one of the windows or reflected in one of the 
mirrors of his house of life, attest by their very freshness 
and simplicity to a pictorial or descriptive power in deal- 
ing with the inanimate world, which is certainly still one- 
half of the charm in that other more remote and mystic 
use of it." 

Some poets personify with a verb an adjective, and even, 
sad to say, with only a capital letter, but Rossetti's world 
was alive with his personifications. Death is to him first 
an infant, then a veiled woman, then a cruel person taking 
away what he loved best. 

"Love Enthroned " is attended by Hope, Youth, Truth, 
and Fame, and many other forms float by in a long proces- 
sion, some veiled and beautiful, others mournful and in 
tears, many joyful, but oftenest do we see grim-faced Death 
hand in hand with Love, the beloved one. 

Rossetti can never be a popular poet, because living 
within himself to the extent that he did, he could not know 
the outside world nor the interests, joys, and sorrows of 

Many poets have been painters and many painters poets, 
since the days of Raphael and Dante, but probably none 
have perfected both arts as did Rossetti. His knowledge 
and love of color is ever apparent in his poems. 

The hair of the blessed damozel was yellow, like ripe corn, 
"and over the golden hair of each spirit there floats a ring 
of fire." His lights are of golden and red, his fields are 
full of white lilies and red roses, and the sunshine about 
them burns and gleams. 

As Mr. Pater says, " Each art reacts upon the other, the 
paintings are peculiarly poetical in conception and execu- 
tion, and the poems have much of that pictorial quality, 
however abstract their themes or however idealized their 


Through all the vicissitudes of his life Rossetti still main- 
tains purity, simplicity, and tenderness in his works and in 
his character, so that the truth that "The spirit of the Mas- 
ter, whose name he bore, clothed him as with a white gar- 
ment, isfully recognized, and to his loved and revered mem- 
ory men render that praise which is due to Dante Gabriel 

Rossetti, poet and painter. 

Sarah S. Root. 


Actors are always interesting people. The glamour of 
the foot-lights is, for most of us, always over them; we can 
scarcely realize that the gorgeous princes, knights, and 
ladies are really in the day-time ordinary men in tweed or 
broadcloth, or women in serge or cheviot. 

Literary lights come down to us in their poems or books, 
but usually tradition alone preserves the names of our 
great actors. However, tradition has been true to her 
trust, and the fame of such interpreters of the drama as 
Burtage, Mrs. Siddons and others lingers with us still. 

Shakespeare as a writer is our familiar friend, but we also 
like to think of him as the ghost in "Hamlet," or as Adam 
in "As You Like It." We wonder if he made a good ghost ? 
I think not — he is too real. In one sense he is a spirit, in 
that he is the embodiment of the dramatic spirit of all ages. 
No other writer has ever so depicted human nature. He 
believed in humanity, he studied humanity, he wrote about 
humanity, and in consequence his plays are as living now 
as when they were first written, and the actors of old and 
those of to-day who present his tragedies and comedies are 
those who, in interpreting his wise lessons, do most to ele- 
vate the stage. The very poverty of the theatres at that 


early date was one of the conditions of the excellence of 
the Elizabethan dramatist; he could not depend upon the 
painter of scenes for any elucidation of his ideas, and there- 
fore he was constrained to make his thought vigorous and 
his language vivid. 

The social position of an actor even at the end of the six- 
teenth century was not enviable; but notwithstanding the 
discredit that attached to the profession under Shakespeare 
the drama reached great popularity and the employment 
soon became lucrative. Shakespeare's profession barred 
his right to a title, and until the past two generations in 
our own country and in England puritanical ideas and 
eccentricities denied- the title of gentleman to the actor. 

The actor was an anomaly: there must be something 
wrong about a man or woman who courted applause in so 
public a way. To most people living outside of the large 
cities the stage meant tinsel, spangles, paint, and artifici- 
ality; but gradually people are coming to a different view 
of this subject. They are realizing that men like Keene, 
MacRead}', and Irving, and women like Charlotte Cushman 
and Mary Anderson have a true message for the world, to 
which the world would do well to listen. 

No two men have done more in our day to elevate the 
stage than our American tragedian, Booth, and our Ameri- 
can comedian, Jefferson. 

If Shakespeare wrote tragedy, Booth acted it. His first 
appearance on the stage was as "Tressel," in 1840, and 
those who saw him then recognized a new force for the 
stage. Those who evening after evening hung breathless 
upon his every word and movement can scarcely think of 
him as one person; to them he was in turn the crafty Tago, 
the wuckedly brilliant Richard III., the revengeful Shylock. 

But above all Booth was Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. 
Hamlet the philosopher, the man of thought whose mind 


must go to madness before he could do the difficult deed. 
It was an event in a life to see Booth play "Hamlet." 
Great minds to madness closely are allied, and as Hamlet 
at the very verge of frenzy seeks relief in ribaldry, so for 
like reason would Booth open the safety-valve of levity in 
some of his most impassioned moments. At the instant of 
intense emotion, when the spectators were enthralled by his 
magnetic influence, the tragedian's overwrought brain 
would take refuge from its own threatening storm beneath 
the gester's hood, and while turned from the audience he 
would "whisper some silliness or make a grimace." 

His fellow-actors who perceived these trivialities igno- 
rantly attributed his conduct at such times to lack of feel- 
ing, whereas it was extreme excess of feeling which thus 
forced his brain back from madness. It is only when we 
remember the great versatility of Booth's mind, which en- 
abled him adequately to interpret each of Shakespeare's 
heroes in turn, that we realize how great must have been 
his intellectual powers. His good influence was not con- 
fined to those who saw him. His perfect rendering of those 
masterpieces of literature were so admirably discussed in 
all the leading periodicals that their good effect reached 
the whole reading world. Fidelis in omnibus was his 
motto, and surely it was a noble one. 

In his autobiography he unconsciously shows us how 
perfect was his home-life, how much gentleness and pathos 
lay in his great heart. 

Looking with admiration at Booth's profile in his por- 
trait by Sir Thomas Lawrence, we know that even had he 
never appeared on the stage he would have been great in 
some line, for genius such as his must find an outlet in one 
way or another, and in any capacity its greatness is in- 
stinctively felt and acknowledged. 

Mr. Booth's gift of a club to the members of his profes- 


sion and those who are in sympathy with it was the last 
crowning act of his life, and "The Players," as was his own 
wish, is his most enduring monument. He presented to 
the members the building and its contents, iucluding his 
own rich dramatic library and rare portraits, in December, 
1888, and thereafter it was his only home. Upon "Found- 
er's Night," the anniversary of the club's inauguration, the 
foremost men in every walk of life gathered within its walls 
to do him honor. The passing of the " Loving Cup," once 
the property of the elder Booth, upon "Founder's Night" 
and other rare and festive occasions, was a revival of an 
old custom, beautiful in its observance, and very dear to 
Mr. Booth's own heart. Alas! they can only drink it to 
his memory now ! - 

That genial soul with glad heart and merry voice! Do 
you know him? Have you heard that voice that seems at 
one moment to ring with laughter and the next to be full 
of tears? Have you heard him say, "Here's your good 
health and your family's, and may you live long and pros- 
per !" If you have heard the voice you have seen the man, 
with his genial face, with his charming manner, and with 
that wonderful something that we call magnetism or indi- 
viduality, but which in reality is sympathy, the strong sym- 
pathy that comes from a human being who has a heart full 
of loving kindness, and unconsciously extends it to every 
one he meets. Do you know him? Perhaps it was not as 
"Rip Van Winkle" that you met this "venerable dean of 
the American stage." Perhaps you saw him as Dr. Pan- 
gloss, or as jolly, mirth-provoking "Bob Acres," or as gen- 
tle, kindly "Caleb Plummer." Unless you have seen him 
as some of these people you can't know how unfortunate 
you are. 

The first glimpse the world had of Jefferson was when as 
a baby three years old he played with infant wisdom the 


role of the " Pizzaro." But we know him best as " Rip Van 
Winkle," and when he is "Rip " he is nobody else in the 
world, for in this role he is inimitable. 

Every one whoever knew Jefferson knew Snyder. " My 
little tog Snyder" was his faithful shadow both on and off 
the stage. But Snyder is dead and his master is growing 
to be an old man — old in years, but not in heart. He 
is too sympathetic ever to become really old. He lives 
now at "Crow's Nest" on a bluff overlooking the beau- 
tiful blue waters of Buzzard's Bay, and there every sum- 
mer he meets his genial companion, Sol Smith Russel, 
an actor of later date, but one whose smiles and tears, laugh- 
ter and pathos are fast becoming noted, and whose influ- 
ence in such good wholesome plays as "A Batchelor's Rom- 
ance" and "The Poor Relation" is very much the same as 
that of his patron, of whom he is a worthy imitator. 

Russel and Jefferson sit together on the broad veranda 
and talk over the days that have been, and Jefferson pro- 
mises a bright future for his friend and for the stage in the 
perfecting of RusseFs humorous genius. The tempers of 
the two men are so singularly alike that each finds a con- 
genial companion in the other. 

Every one loves Jefferson, every one confides in him, 
young actors deem it the greatest honor to talk with him. 
Is it not good for such a man to have lived ? All the 
world is better for it, and truly we can say for him as he 
has said so many thousand times for us, " May you live 
long and prosper !" 

Booth and Jefferson were devoted friends, each was hap- 
piest when with the other; old reminicences made them 
boys again. 

The wonderful profile of Booth looks as if it were cut in 
ivory, while the expressive face of Jefferson changes so con- 
tinually it would never suggest anything so firm. It is 


more like wax, but wax with a soul. But there came a 
time when the dear friend was there no more, and none 
but Mr. Jefferson himself will know how much he has been 

Booth was not a perfect man, he was only human, and 
very human at that, but he was a credit to humanity, an 
honor to his country, and the foremost figure in the whole 
history of the American stage. 

Frances H. Cameron. 


In trying to approach the mind of a man like Tennyson 
one almost feels as if he must "Tread softly and speak 
low," else the true spiritual part of the poet's nature and 
the delicate shades of his meaning will not be rightly in- 
terpreted. The history of Tennyson's life is singularly 
devoid of incident, but in his quiet home he was gaining 
experience, and beginning to reflect too the spirit of his 
time, and his spiritual lessons were tending to the upbuild- 
ing of a fine character. He lost his friend Hallam, and 
this sorrow gave to his poems a deeper undertone of mean- 

" I sometimes hold it half a sin 
To put in words the grief I feel, 
For words like nature half conceal 
And half reveal the soul within." 

But through other friendships he was kept in throbbing 
sympathy with the social and religious fermentations of 
that eventful era, and his retirement was by no means 
marked by inactivity. 


Tennyson was singularly alive to all the abundant beau- 
ties of nature, and whenever the beautiful touched him he 
ceased his ordinary trend of thought, no matter how 

"I have known him," writes Sir John Simeon's daugh- 
ter, "I have known him to stop short in a sentence to listen 
to blackbirds' song, to watch the sunlight glitter on a but- 
terfly's wings, or to examine a field flower at his feet." 
She also tells us that the lines " Flower in the crannied 
wall" were the result of an investigation of the "love in 
idleness " growing on a wall in Farringford garden. He 
never willingly took any part in the destruction of life. 
"I can very well remember the look on his face," says his 
niece, "when he met me one day returning from his meadow 
with a wheelbarrow full of fading daffodils plucked by me 
with the lavish hand of a child." 

Tennyson is thought by man}' to be the greatest English 
poet of this century, not excepting Wordsworth, Byron or 

The scholar, the lover of nature, the thinking and reflec- 
tive man delight in him. No poet has a broader or more 
exclusive constituency. He is undoubtedly the poet of 
moods, in touch with every sensation common to the heart 
of man, woman, and child. It is as though he had thrown 
all human hearts, with their passions and excitements, into 
life-pictures on the walls of some great gallery and bidden 
the spectators to look at them and behold the moods of the 
souls of men. 

Mr. J. Marshal Mather says: " Next to the Bible and 
Shakespeare, I know of nothing so true, so full or so start- 
ling in their revelation of moods as the writings and poems 
of Tennyson." Through and through he is English. In his 
artistic creations the most English perhaps of traits, that 
reverence for law and order, stands out as a prominent char- 


For the most part he sings of e very-day loves and duties 
of men and women, a goodly company with whom it is 
delightful to mingle. As some one has said, " He is the 
artist who saw the moral aspect of beauty and painted that 
beauty with a temperate, reverent hand." 

During the age in which Tennyson lived social problems 
of all kinds were confronting the people, especially the up- 
growth of the middle class. In an age of multifarious 
thought and feeling he is alive to all its questionings, and 
grapples with the darkest problem. He will not be "a 
tongue-tied fret in the feverous days of his century." He 
loves his age and sees always: 

" The fair new forms 
That float about the threshhold of an age; 
Like truths of science waiting to be caught. 
And taken bv the forelock." 


Amid all the mental and spiritual conflicts into which 
he is plunged, Tennyson never despairs. Through all he 
ever looks to the star of hope. He believed in a gradual 
but sure advance of the race toward higher and higher 

"This fine old world of ours is but a child. 
Yet in the go-cart. Patience, give it time 
To learn its limbs, There is a hand that guides." 

Men toil, struggle, and achieve, and every gain opens to 
them wider, clearer vistas, till at last law, religion, and 
order shall be enthroned and bloodshed and irreligion be 
no more: 

" Men my brothers, men the workers, 
Ever reaping something new, 

That which they have done, but earnest of the things 
that they shall do." 


"Till the war-drum throbbed no longer 
And the battle flags were furled 
In the Parliament of Man, the Federation of the world." 

This is the ideal, but Tennyson is no mere sentimentalist, 
and in the meantime, till the ideal be attained, men must 
strive even to 'the' death for right and law: 

Peace lovers we, sweet peace we all desire; 

Peace lovers we, but who can trust a liar ? 

Peace lovers, haters 

Of shameless traitors; 

We hate not France, but this man's heart of stone: 

Britons, guard your own. 

When Wellington died he felt the loss England had sus- 
tained in the passing of her great warrior-statesman, and 
mourned for him deeply: 

"Mourn, for to us he seems the last, 
Remembering his greatness in the Past. 
Mourn for the man of amplest influence, 
Yet clearest of ambitious crime, 
Our greatest yet with least pretence, 
Great in council and great in war, 
Foremost captain of his time, 
Rich in saving common-sense, 
And, as the greatest only are, 
In his simplicity sublime." 

Tennyson seemed to have no patience with men who 
wished speedy reforms, who, instead of calmly awaiting 
the natural sequence of things, would clutch at the future. 
Such emotions are with him " the blind hysterics of the 
Celt." In all his works we are constantly but unintention- 
ally shown, I think, the deep and earnest thought that 


Tennyson gave to all things spiritual. Even in his youth 
he was impressed with thoughts of the possibilities of life 
by his mother's talks to himself and his brothers at their 
quiet Somersby home. 

Mrs. Hamilton Mabie, in the Atlantic Monthly, has a short 
sketch of Tennyson, showing the spiritual side of his life: 
" It was fortunate that the poet's biography was not pre- 
pared by a biographer who wished to minimize the relig- 
ious element, on the contrary it was thrown into boldest 
relief, and the reader is let into three profound convictions 
which give the Laureate's poetry such depth and spiritual 
splendor. He refused to formulate his faith, but he has 
given it an expression wdiichis at once definite and poetic, 
illuminating and enduring ": 

"On God and God-like men we build our trust." 

A week before his death his son tells us he talked long 
of the personality and love of God, 

"That God whose eyes consider the poor." 

To a young man going to a university he said: "The 
love of God is the true basis of duty, truth, reverence, loy- 
alty, love, virtue, and work," and he added characteristic- 
ally, "but don't be a prig." 

Through his verse, as through his life, there ran this cur- 
rent of faith, but the expression of it was free from dog- 
matic or ecclesiastical phrase. Says Mr. Welsh: 

"Reading him, we may not guess his life and story so 
easily and quickly as that of Byron, nevertheless the 
essential qualities are in his works not of head only, but 
also of heart. From no other data than his verse we con- 
clude with confidence that he is a tranquil, well-propor- 
tioned soul, possessing the rare combination of the metrical 
faculty and the producing power, and that he is endowed 


with au earnest capacity for reflection, with a luxurious 
sense of color, rhythm, and form. How much personal 
purity and thought, fullness, delicacy of feeling, constancy 
of faith, ideality of conception are revealed in these touches 

The central idea of the Laureate's poetry is that of the 
dignity and efficiency of law in its widest sense, and of the 
progress of the race. The elements which form his ideal 
of human character are self-reverence, self-knowledge, self- 
control, the recognition of a divine order, of one's place in 
that order, and a faithful adhesion to the law of one's high- 
est life. 

Tennyson and Browning are the highest representatives 
of the Victorian era, each great in his own way, but Tenny- 
son will live for his permanent qualities of magic, of music 
and of truth, for all the charm of the muses flows in his 
verse. One of the highest tributes paid to a poet is con- 
tained in these words to the dead Laureate, 

"But yesterday there was a hand 
That touched the harp with high command; 
From first to last its faultless strain 
Was resolutely clear and sane; 
No breath unholy swept the strings, 
No storm of passion soiled the springs, 
Even in its strongest, swiftest roll 
'Twas subject still to self-control, 
As through the banks it poured along, 
No torrent but a tide of song, 
Full, liquid, deep majestic sound, 
That felt its purpose, knew its bound, 
With stately music, sovereign tone 
And sweetness, wisdom all its own." 

Jessamine M. Higgs. 



Many people naturally look to the past for what is grand 
and beautiful, and frequently overlook all that their own 
age has produced of worth or importance. To them the 
past always "gains a glory from its being far "; to them the 
"spacious times of great Elizabeth," the stately age of 
Queen Anne are still the halcyon days of literature. They 
would not, for an instant, have us return to the ruffles, 
puffs, powder, and wigs of the eighteenth century, but they 
would have us accept the writings of that day, especially 
the prose, as our standard, and, if, during the controversy, 
we should suggest the names of Macaulay, Curtis or War- 
ner as writers of exquisite prose, will smile pityingly and 
quote as conclusive the adage, "If you wish to write cor- 
rectly spend days and nights in the study of Addison." 
We do not, in the least, object to the high opinion of Addi- 
son and Steele, but we do ask that the almost faultless style 
of our own delightful essayists should not be undervalued. 
In the preceding century the number of these writers was 
somewhat limited, so, if we would reach any decisive con- 
clusion as to the literary merit of the age, we necessarily 
have to make a study of all those who have attained any 
noticeable success. But, in our present day, so prolific in 
brilliant intellectual and scientific achievements, there is 
such an unlimited number of essayists and novelists that 
no one of these can really be considered pre-eminent. The 
most noteworthy and able essayists of the eighteenth cen- 
tury are, of course, Addison and Steele, while George Wil- 
liam Curtis and Charles Dudley Warner are representative 
men of our own time. All four of these men were satirists, 
directing their weapons against the follies and excesses of 
their time. 


Addison makes the London of his day relive for us. 
With him we walk through its streets, we enter its queer 
old-fashioned shops, we go by boat to the early markets, 
we hear the quaint cries of the brawlers, and later we see 
the carriages and liveries rumbling over the rough stone. 
In the evening Addison goes to the Italian opera, and the 
next "Spectator" contains reflections on the absurdity of 
pretending to enjoy a play when we cannot understand one 
word of it. At this same opera he notices how the court 
ladies ogled behind their fans, and writes in mock serious- 
ness of the extreme usefulness of fans as a screen for co- 
quetry. The. applause is ill-timed and unseemly, and he sug- 
gests that the manager procure the services of a number of 
men who will form an applauding club and who will mingle 
with the audience and keep up the enthusiasm by applaud- 
ing vigorously at stated intervals. He reads that a ring is 
to be grinned for at a country fair, and a paper in the 
"Tatler' immediately proposes a tournament in which 
" the frightfulest grinner shall be the winner." 

He looks from the window of Button's coffee-house and 
sees a fashionable young woman pass; he laughs slyly at 
her patches and powder and writes his "Dissection of a 
Coquette's Heart." But the men did not go unchallenged, 
for seeing "Sir Fobling " stroll leisurely by, he gives us his 
"Dissection of a Beau's Head." We cannot help smiling 
at his description of the fops of the court, so ludicrously like 
the would-be dandy of our own day. What a vivid picture 
he gives us of the ladies with patches and powder, with 
enormous hoops, and high head-dress. We heartily sym- 
pathize with him in his attempt to persuade the women to 
discard the voluminous petticoat, for they must have looked 
absurdly, like small mountains moving rather ungracefully 
along, or like the old lady of Yarrow, 

ST. MARY'S 31 USE. 39 

"Who went to church in a wheelbarrow, 
She said with a smile as she stuck in the isle, 
They make these here churches too narrow." 

To correct this abuse, Addison instituted a court of judi- 
cature on the petticoat. In this he says: "Word was 
brought me that the prisoner had endeavored twice or 
thrice to come in, but could not do it b} r reason of her petti- 
coat, which was too large for the entrance of my house, 
though I had ordered the folding-doors to be thrown open 
for its reception. Being asked by the judge why she wore 
it, she said she wore it for no other reason but that she 
had a mind to look as big and burly as other members of 
her quality; that she had kept out of it as long as she could, 
until she began to appear little in the eyes of her acquaint- 

These reasons given by the belle of Addison's time would, 
I am afraid, be echoed by many a fine lady of our own 
day. Crinolines are bad enough, but tight sleeves, denii- 
trains, and choking collars are even worse. Warner, like 
Addison, is a satirist, but of a much milder type. 

Directing some of his works against the social fads of 
men of this enlightened era, he attacks them in a manner 
so good-natured, yet firm, that he produces an effect which 
is marred by little, if any, ill-will. He writes of the fad for 
the chrysanthemum, of the great burden Christmas is be- 
coming to so many people, of the value of the common- 
place, of the use of the broad A. 

Noting the tendency of the nineteenth century woman to 
prove herself capable of undertaking many branches of 
man's work [in which she usually succeeds, too], he writes 
his article, "Shall Women Propose?" Speaking of the 
"Value of the Commonplace," he says: "The wisdom of 
our ancestors, packed away in proverbial sayings, may 
always be a little suspected. We have a vague respect for a 


popular proverb, as embodying folk experience and express- 
ing not the wit of one, but the common thought of a race. 
We accept the saying unquestioning, as a sort of inspira- 
tion out of the air, true, because "nobody has challenged it 
for ages, and probably for the same reason we try to see the 
new moon over our left shoulder." Again, " Great is the 
power of the commonplace, my friends," says the preacher 
in an impressive manner, "Alexander died; Napoleon died; 
you will all die!" This profound remark, so true, so 
thoughtful, creates a deep sensation. It is deepened hy the 
statement, " Man is a mortal being !" The profundity of 
such startling assertions cows the spirit; the} 7 appeal to the 
universal consciousness, and we bow to the genius that de- 
livers them. "How true!" we exclaim, and go away with 
an enlarged sense of our capacity for the comprehension of 
deep thought. 

Connected with the editorial staff of "Harper's Magazine" 
at the same time as Warner was George William Curtis, 
essayist, orator, poet, and politician. It is for this reason 
that he, together with James Russell Lowell, represents the 
highest form of culture. His was the culture of a well-bred 
man, which is not so much that of the brain as to exclude 
that of the heart. A man of strong individuality, yet his 
most noticeable characteristic is his extreme tenderness. 
Here is an example of how gentleness may be combined 
with strength, and yet not in any degree impair true man- 
hood. It is his unusual tenderness that places him so far 
above the other essayists I have mentioned, for only he and 
Steele can be said to have truly loved their characters. 
Curtis had learned his art perfectly, and consequently has 
succeeded in expressing himself so clearly, and at the same 
time so untiringly, that has elevated the sentiment of every 
subject he touched. 

There is nothing romantic about New York, but what a 


delightful veil of sentiment Curtis throws around even that 
city of brick and mortar, the old apple-woman, the broker, 
even the rich man himself! One cannot help loving these 
characters in his charming little reverie " Prue and I," 
they are so delightfully gentle and entertaining. They 
seem so much easier and nicer to love than the overdressed 
people of Addison and Steele. But Warner seems to have 
no desire to make us love his characters; he pokes fun at 
them, and we laugh at them good-naturedty, as we are ex- 
pected to do. We love this good and wise old clerk who, 
knowing he too cannot go to a fashionable reception, fusses 
with himself for even wishing to go, and soliloquizes 
thus: "Had I been invited, I should have pestered Prue 
about my only white waistcoat, and in my natural impa- 
tience might have let drop a thoughtless word, which would 
have been a pang in her heart and a tear in her eye for 
weeks afterwards. I should have taken out the maiden 
aunt from the country, at dinner, and talked poultry when 
I talked at all. How much better it is that I am not 
invited to that dinner, but was permitted by a kind fate to 
furnish a subject for her wit." 

We are told that if we wish to attain perfection in lan- 
guage we should refer to Addison, but Swift is quite as 
good an authority, and who could prefer the style of either 
to the ease and simplicity of Curtis' style, or the ease and 
colloquialism of Warner? Have we not just cause to be 
proud, very proud, of our late writers? We cannot for one 
instant think they are inferior to those of less modern times. 
Of these four essayists, each of whom occupies a well-de- 
served position among the list of great men, to me it seems 
that Curtis must appeal most strongly to every individual. 
Of him it has been truly said: "To know Curtis was in 
itself an education." 

Kate McK. Hawley. 



The unparalleled splendor of the Elizabethan period had 
scarcely passed away, its echoes still lingered in Jonson, 
Drayton, Ford, Shirley, Webster, when a new class of poets 
came in to brighten the stern Puritan element which had 
already made itself felt. The reign of Elizabeth was indeed 
Europe's grandest age. It was a time when everything was 
bursting into life and color. In the east we find the revival 
of classical learning and in the west the discovery of lands 
hitherto unknown. It might be called a return of the 
golden age of wealth, poetry, and adventure. 

But. soon a great change had swept over England. We 
miss the passion of the Elizabethan time, its feeling of life, 
sympathy, and delight. To the Puritan the mode of life in 
which men of the Renaissance had revelled seemed not 
worth living. He was ever on his guard against an}' - frivol- 
ity, was never idle, and hated to see any one else so. This 
feeling of restraint was manifested in the very apparel in- 
stead of the gorgeous dress and jewels of the Elizabethan 
age. We find men clad in sombre gray. All sense of humor 
died away and little things became great things. The Puri- 
tan shrank from the May-pole and mince-pie at Christmas 
as he did from any other impurity or sin. Life became 
hard and colorless. It is from such a spirit that we turn 
to the early lyric poets who still retain the lighter and more 
elegant side of the Elizabethan age. 

Few have really fully appreciated these singers, coming 
to us as they do in the interval between two mighty eras. 
Herrick, Carew, Lovelace, Suckling, the gallant and frivo- 
lous cavaliers, represent the gaities of the court. They sing 
of things in lighter vein, they look on the sunny side of 
life and tell us of the charms of the court beauties and of 
all the "fleeting forms of fleeting love." They sing of 


spring with its blossoms, of the woods, the thrush, the 
nightingale, of flowers, and of country work. These gal- 
lant cavaliers suffered in the royal cause and our hearts 
throb over their songs, battles, the glitter of war, and their 
gallantry to the ladies. These poets really anticipated 
the greater lyrics of Wordsworth, Shelley, Tennyson, which 
were to come to us in the latter half of the nineteenth cen- 
tury. Wordsworth gives us in his "Intimations of Im- 
mortality " higher aspirations. We feel that it contains not 
only sublime ideas, lofty thoughts, and a deep glow of hu- 
manity, but also philosophy. Many of the lyrics of Shel- 
ley are of inexpressible beauty. The "Ode to a Skylark" 
breathes the very rapture of the birds' soaring song, and 
"The Cloud" abounds in picturesque imagination. Our 
earlier lyrists by their own masterpieces in minature make 
a fit forerunner for these greater poets. 

Sir John Suckling is remembered by us chiefly on account 
of his exquisite "Ballad Upon a Wedding." Leigh Hunt, 
a great critic in his day, said that had Anacreon been a 
fine gentleman of the age of Charles I. he would have writ- 
ten the "Ballad Upon a Wedding." What a delightful 
bride she was! 

" Her feet beneath her petticoat, 
Like little mice stole in and out, 
As if they feared the light, 
But, oh, she dances such a way 
No sun upon an Easter-day 
Is half so fine a sight. 

Her cheeks so rare a white was on, 

No daisy makes comparison, 

Who sees them is undone, 

For streaks of red were mingled there, 

Such as are on a Catherine pear, 

The side that's next the sun." 


Surely our brave cavalier Sir John, to have made such 
a truly rustic comparison, must have nfade his way to 
some barn and seen the little mice scamper in and our 
among the wisps of hay. We are inclined to treat Suckling 
in a careless manner before we know him well, for he is full 
of childish nonsense. But we regard him more soberly 
when we realize that his friends were Jonson and Hale. 
At his best, Suckling is delightfully animated. His love 
was no mere sentimentality. He says: 

"Why so wan and pale, fair lover? 
Prithee, why so pale? 

Will, when looking well, won't move her? 
Looking ill prevail? 
Prithee, why so pale? 

Quit, quit, for shame this will not move her, 

This cannot take her, 

If of herself she will not love 

Nothing can make her. 

(The devil take her)." 

Suckling may never be called tedious by any one, and he 
has the art of saying what he wishes in a few words. He 
seems to dread being thought melancholy, and as soon as 
he touches sentiment he relapses into reserve. His lyric, 
"A Soldier," is peculiarly adapted to himself: 

A man am I of war and might, 

And know this much that I can fight, 

Whether I am in the wrong or right, 

No woman under heaven I fear, 
New oaths I can exactly swear, 
And forty healths my brain will bear, 

Most stoutly." 


He is comparatively free from the faults of some of his 
contemporaries, and the few conceits that he uses are so 
slight and elusive that they can scarcely be recognized as 
such. Unlike Cowley and Waller, who were continually 
upon stilts, he seldom mounts them, but is content to be 
himself and to use his pen with that child-like simplicity 
which endears him to all. One of Suckling's best friends 
was Sir Richard Lovelace. Some of his songs are inimitable 
for their grace and gaiety, and his language has an heroic 
ring about it which we find nowhere else. Perhaps Love- 
lace would have held quite an exalted opinion of himself, 
could he have known how many bosoms are now throbbing 
over that beautiful old rhyme of his, "Going to the Wars": 

True a new mistress now I chase, 

The first foe in the field, 
And with a stronger faith embrace 

A sword, a horse, a shield. 

Yet this inconstancy is such 

As you too shall adore, 
I could not love thee, dear, so much, 

Loved I not honor more. 

No one who admires the daintiness, lightness, and vivacity 
of these early singers can ignore Thomas Carew. He is very 
tender and natural and can reach the heart and stir our 
innermost feelings by his simple pathos. His best poem, 
the "Rapture," gives us his sentiments upon love: 

Meanwhile the bubbling stream shall court the shore, 
The enamoured chirping wood choir shall adore, 
In varied tunes the deity of love, 
The gentle blasts of western winds shall move, 


The trembling leaves, and through their close boughs 

Still music while we rest ourselves beneath 
Their dancing shade. 

He has devoted a great deal of his tune to exquisite tri- 
fles, and some of his poetry might be attributed to a writer 
of the eighteenth century, for instance his song: 

" Ask me no more where Jove bestows, 
When June is past, the fading rose, 
For in your beauty's orient deep 
These flowers as in their causes sleep." 

Although Carew led a frivolous, butterfly life, yet we must 
never forget that his genius existed and made itself felt in 
his fresh coloring and tender passion. 

Herrick is the most delightful of all these poets. There 
is not a sunnier book in the world than the " Hesperides." 
To open it is like entering a beautiful garden and inhaling 
odorous perfumes. We wander with Herrick through Eng- 
lish lanes and meadows; we see the hock-cart creak slowlv 
home; the harvest swains and wenches bound for joy to see 
it crowned. We see them making merry cheer, drinking 
to their lord's health, and we catch sight of the milkmaid 
tripping through the meadows. He tells us "how roses 
first came red and lilies white." We pause awhile with 
him beside the "Primroses filled with morning dew," and 


"The reason why 

Ye droop and weep; 

Is it Tor want of sleep 

Or childish lullaby? 

Or that ye have not seen as yet 

The violet 

Or brought a kiss 

From that sweet heart to this." 


Every one who loves the spring grass, the rosebuds, the 
meadows, the daffodils, and soft music is also a lover of 

He tells us of all the innocent pleasures of the people, of 
the bridal festivities aud of the May-pole dance. A little 
poem in which he has given us all a fair warning has 
proved irresistible to many: 

"Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, 
Old Time is still a flying, 
And this same flower that smiles to-day 
To-morrow will be dying. 

Then be not coy, but use your time, 

And while ye may, go marry, 
For having lost but once your prime, 

You may forever tarry." 

Though Herrick gives us many poems on wine, feasts, 
and flowers, yet we believe that he really took more pleas- 
ure in his love poems. The object of his early and constant 
affection was Julia, but we never believe that he really 
loved her, for we think she was his ideal. He certainly took 
great pleasure in her voice, which was 

"So smooth, so sweet, so silv'ry," 
As could they hear the damned 
Would make no noise, 
But listen to thee walking in thy chamber, 
Melting melodious words to lutes of amber." 

We always imagine Julia as walking gracefully and glid- 
ing into every one's heart, for Herrick speaks of the " lique- 
faction of her clothes." Again he rejoices at the recovery 
of his lady-love, and works out the charming thought that 
the flowers have been suffering iu sympathy with Julia: 


"Droop, droop, no more or hang thy head, 
Ye roses almost withered, 
New strength and newer purple get 
Each here declining violet. 
O, primroses, let this day be 
A resurrection unto ye." 

These earlier lyrists mean a great deal to us. They stand 
in direct contrast in their lightness, gracefulness, joyfulness 
with the stern, serious Puritan. 

We go to these singers in our happy, light-hearted moods, 
when we see the world through rose-colored glasses. Their 
lightest trifles mean something to us, and have become 

" The lyric 
Ever on the lip." 

Sallie B. Harris. 



"The poet in a golden clime was born, 
With golden stars above; 
Dower'd with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, 
The love of love." 

Tennyson's early idealization, thus beautifully expressed, 
may be most appropriately applied to himself as an artist 
and as a man, for his art was so thoroughly identified with 
his personality that in contemplating the wonder and per- 
fectness of the one it- is impossible to ignore the truth and 
beauty of the other. 

The art of Tennyson, which is a combination of clear- 
ness, simplicity and sincerity, is dignified by the reverence 


with which the poet himself regarded his high, vocation. 
To him the divine revelation of the beautiful and his ex- 
ceptional power of embodying it were the most sacred gifts 
and duties of his life. "He whose eyes are steadily fixed 
on the beautiful," says Stopford Brooke, "always loves, 
and is always young." The later poems of Tennyson have 
verified this statement, for in the lines of the poet of three- 
score years there breathes the same life and joyousness as 
in those of the hopeful young author of "Poems Chiefly 

Of all of Tennyson's poems his lyrics present the great- 
est variety of style and metre, and by careful correction 
and repeated touches he has given us in the songs from 
"The Princess," "The Ladv of Shalott," and "The Palace 
of Art" some of the rarest gems of English song. 

Tennyson is a master in the art of depicting the joyous- 
ness and brightness of youth. In his "Mermaid" and 
"Merman" gay glimpses are caught of the rollicking^ 
throbbing life of the sea, a sea untouched bv stormv wind 
or wave. "Lancelot and Guinevere" is filled with the 
sunshine of youth, while "The Departure of the Sleeping 
Beauty " awakens in us new sensations of life and love as 
we listen, to its glad refrain : 

"Across the hills and far away 
Beyond this utmost purple rim, 
The happy princess follow'd him." 

The same youthful delight runs through the songs of 
"Maud" and "The Princess," it babbles and chatters in 
the voice of "The Brook " and rises into ecstatic rapture in 
the song of "The Throstle": 

"Summer is coming, summer is coming. 
I know it, I know it, I know it. 
Light again, leaf again, life again, love again, 
Yes, my wild little poet." 


In describing real nature Tennyson is as skillful as in 
the portrayal of that mystic " land of streams" where the 
"charmed sunset " lingers and "sweet music" sooths the 
weary spirit. 

In his descriptions of the English daisy and the little 
sea-shell with its " delicate spire and whorl " minute ob- 
servation is united with the lightest, most exquisite fancy. 
What could be more beautifully descriptive of the hushed 
midnight stillness which pervades an English garden than 
this passage from "Maud ": 

"There has fallen a splendid tear 
From the passion flower at the gate 

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The red rose cries, 'She is near, she is near'; 
And the white rose weeps, 'She is late,' 
The larkspur listens, 'I hear, I hear,' 
And the lily whispers, 'I wait.'" 

The silence is filled with the odorous breath of the roses 
and the quick, expectant throb of the heart of the lover, 
and his excited fancy transfers to the flowers its own vary- 
ing emotions attendant on the maiden's approach. 

In "The Lady of Shalott," " CEnone," and the "Mari- 
ana " Tennyson has given us a series of poems perfect from 
an artistic point of view, but filled with the hopelessness 
and despair of youth, when the first fresh enthusiasms are 
crushed by sorrow and the young life lies helpless beneath 
its burden, deeming no consolation possible. We find no 
such poems among Tennyson's later productions; his own 
life and experience had taught him that man can overcome 
what seems at first an utter failure, and manifested the 

" That men may rise on stepping-stones 
Of their dead selves to higher things." 


He learned the lesson of life bravely, through doubt and 
sorrow and pain, as his poems testify, but nobly and sin- 
cerely, and in his later poems there is the peace and 
serenity of a man that "is quiet at last, as he stands on 
the heights of his life with a glimpse of a height that is 

But Tennyson's art as a lyric poet does not confine itself 
exclusively to bursts of wild delight or dark despair, he is 
equally successful in the expression of tenderness, sadness, 
regret and other milder passions which are common to hu- 
manity. Among the earlier poems "Claribel" presents 
the quiet beauty of an imaginary regret; the "Idyls of the 
King " contain many instances of this type of poem in the 
songs of Enid, Elaine, and Vivien; "The Victim" is the 
embodiment of tender tragedy, while this little fragment 
from "The Princess" excels them all in truth and simpli- 

"As through the land at eve we went 

And pluck'd the ripen'd ears, 

We fell out, my wife and I, 

Once fell out, I know not why, 

And kiss'd again with tears. 

And blessings on the falling out 

That all the more endears, 

When we fall out with those we love 

And kiss again with tears! 

For when we came where lies the child 

We lost in other years, 

There above the little grave, 

O there above the little grave, 

We kiss'd again with tears." 

The brief life of Arthur Hallam is so entwined with that 
of Tennyson and the soul-affinity of the men so perfect, that 
one must feel deep awe and reverence in the contemplation 


of their sacred friendship. The friends made frequent 
journeys together abroad, and once visited the valley of 
Cauteretz. Many years after the death of Hallarn, Tennyson 
went alone to the same spot, now hallowed by tender mem- 
ories, and the solitude, bereavement, and unquenchable 
love of his nature, his everlasting remembrance, yet perfect 
reconciliation to the will of Heaven, find expression in the 
reflections of this second visit: 

"All along the valley, stream that flashest white, 
Deepening thy voice with the deepening of the night, 
All along the valley, where thy waters flow, 
I walk'd with one I loved two and thirty years ago. 
All along the valley, while I walk'd to-day, 
The tw T o and thirty years were a mist that rolls away; 
For all along the valley, down thy rocky bed, 
Thy living voice to me was as the voice of the dead, 
And all along the valley, by rock and cave and tree, 
The voice of the dead was a living voice to me." 

The shock of Hallam's death left Tennyson benumbed 
with sorrow, and the purpose of his life seemed for a time 
arrested. When he again began to write we find a marked 
difference in the character of his poems. "The Palace of 
Art," which is the first poem of this new epoch, expresses 
most clearly the change in the poet's feelings. Inclined by 
nature to a life of solitude and contemplation, Tennyson 
reveals through this aesthetic medium his realization of the 
danger which assails every sensitive human soul at one 
period of its development, in the temptation to lead a self- 
centered existence. It is the protest of one who has learned 
the truth of the lesson which h'e teaches, that " He that 
shuts Love out, in turn shall be shut put from Love, and 
on her threshold lie 

Howling in outer darkness." 


Apart from its ethical teaching "The Palace of Art" is 
the most finished of Tennyson's lyrical productions, and 
contains a series of the most striking and delicate word- 
pictures that abound in the wonderful gallery of the poet's 

Acute susceptibility to sound was a marked character- 
istic of Tennyson, and united with a vivid imagination, 
produced many beautiful creations like the bugle-song from 
"The Princess," and a later poem, "Far — Far — Away." In 
childhood the latter words were fraught with a peculiar 
meaning to him, and he wrote the poem to perpetuate their 
fading charm. 

This deep, impressionable soul, this seer into the heart 
of nature, has revealed many glimpses of that "mystic 
gleam " which makes us all, at times, so flickeringly con- 
scious of our close proximity to the unseen world. Who 
has not felt with an inexpressible wonder the sensation so 
exquisitely defined in these lines?" 

"Moreover, something is or seems, 
That touches me with mystic gleams, 
Like glimpses of forgotten dreams — 
Of something felt, like something here; 
Of something done, I know not where; 
Such as no language may declare." 

This is undoubtedly the same "gleam" of which the poet 
later writes: 

" Not of the sunlight 
Not of the moonlight, 
Not of the starlight," 

But an undying radiance which illumined his path 
through all his blameless life, till near its close, 


"There on the border 
Of boundless Ocean, 
And all but in Heaven 
Hovers the Gleam." 

Annie R. Barnes. 


In this age of indiscriminate printing of everything that 
happens, and ten thousand things that don't happen, it is 
gratifying to revert to the fact that there is a class of cur- 
rent literature that the unbridled drift towards fakism has 
not seriously affected. 

There is of course more than one opinion as to the good 
or bad effects that the indiscriminate publication of every 
thing real or imaginable has on our moral and civil life. 
But there is among' thinking people a universal desire 
that our leading periodicals may forever maintain that con- 
servative and dignified standard that has made them of 
interest and pleasure and of edification in the inner circles 
of the best homes in America. 

The contents of our American magazines are the cream 
of an age of remarkable clever thinking and writing. It is 
not unnatural that a well-directed periodical should con- 
tain the very cream of human thought and human action. 
The times demand almost momentary publications, and the 
race made by publishers to be the first to get before the 
reader necessarily results in inaccurate, and sometimes, 
unreasonable statements. 

A fake is fleeter than a fact. It can keep pace with it on 
the wires or in the mails, while on the highways it can 
give a fact the real advantage and come in ahead at the 


next station. Fakes and facts go along together into the 
columns of our daily publications, but true and well-man- 
aged periodicals have time to separate them, boil out the 
fake, and serve to the reader the secret of truth. 

The value of our best magazines is a most important sub- 
ject. It staggers one to approach it in so small a space. 
If phenomenal success established the value of a thing, the 
subject could be rested upon the world-wide circulation of 
our best periodicals and the great fortunes that have been 
made by their publishers, but this test would include all 
financially successful publications, whether they had been 
built upon truth or falsehood, upon science or sensation. 

There must be a real value attached to our best maga- 
zines that appeals to the loftier attributes of our individual 
life. We know that u The Century," " Scribner's," "Harp- 
er's," and others of like character are valuable because 
their contents are by thinking men for thinking people. 

They are valuable because they feed the mind on that 
which gives it vigor and strength; because they give a hap- 
piertype of manhood and womanhood, when truth and prin- 
ciple are uppermost in the mind and heart. A periodical is 
not necessarily valuable because its contents are heavy, be- 
cause its articles are so sublime with deep thought as to 
dazzle the ordinary mind. Not all of the magazine arti- 
cles are treaters on intricate or intangible problems. In- 
deed, the best of the articles are from pens that write nearest 
to the seat of our e very-day life. 

The exquisite illustrations which come from the fingers 
of masters of the art of picture-making are really val- 
uable, but the true worth of the magazine articles are the 
stories, the brain work which the pages contain, interest- 
ing, entertaining, and ennobling thought tersely expressed, 
weighty subjects dissected and discussed by brainy men 
and brainy women. 


Harper's Magazine furnishes us with the delightful stories 
by Margaret Delaud. We enjoy the "Old Chester Tales," 
" Mr. Tommy Dove," "A Rose of Yesterday" by F. Marion 
Crawford, and others of like character, which we all ad- 
mire — stories that portray the characters of every-day life, 
and that have in them high standards of social and moral 

History has a great place in our magazine literature. 
Good historical novels are so rare that the appearance of 
one becomes an event of importance. Our novels have 
been mere stories, lacking the true historic perspective, and 
above all the essential literarv form. There are of course 
exceptions to this, such as the romances of Hawthorne, 
which are incomparabl} 7 our best literary productions in 
fiction; there is Cooper's "Spy," a downright historic novel, 
but somewhat lacking in literary handling. But our 
magazines give us novels such as the "Hugh Wynne" 
of Dr. S. Weir Mitchell, which contains notable qualities 
that distinguish it from anything else of the kind. In 
its manner and in its historic perspective it may almost 
be called a pioneer in its field. On every page is found 
the well-bred tone, which is the proper garment of good 
literature. The story is ample and unexaggerated in lan- 
guage, but it has that indefinable thing called "charm." 
This is both in the style and the manner and in the refined 
spirit. No wonder in reading it we often look up from the 
pages and exclaim, "How delicious this is !" 

The periodical war papers are generally the best histories 
of national or international strife. Napoleon's war papers 
are among the most interesting features of many bound 
volumes of periodicals of former days. Our own civil war 
has been vividly portrayed by different periodical writers. 
There is value in the way they lead us through the exciting 
and dramatic scenes of the past, and make us familiar with 


the actors whose names stood for the embodiment of finan- 
cial daring and superb generalship. 

The magazines give us reading of strong human interest 
and plenty of it — reading clever and timely. Dead sub- 
jects are good enough for dead people, but not for the wide- 
awake American, the American who loves an education, 
and loves to keep up with all the popular things of the day. 
Live subjects appeal to the man and the woman who live 
in the present. 

We look forward each month with eagerness to the com- 
ing of our chief magazines, which contain all the popular 
topics of the time. We don't forget "Harper's," which gives 
us the instructing, yet interesting "Book Reviews" by Lau- 
rence Hutton. He reviews such books as Wells and Mitch- 
ell's Astronomy, relieves us poor unscientific mortals from 
the reading of them, but gives us interesting accounts of the 
views of these two men on the planet Mars that it is in- 
habited and that its inhabitants are trying to put them- 
selves into direct communication with the men of the earth. 
Again, he mentions the authorized "Life of Thackeray," 
for which the world has waited and wished for so many 
years, and which is now given by his daughter, Mrs. Ritchie. 
In fact we couldn't begin to name. the hundred of different 
books with which he deals, but we can say that they are 
encouraging and interesting to all classes of society, from 
the scientist to the youngest reader. 

Our chief magazines are not class magazines, but for the 
people — the whole people, the great, broad, seventy mil- 
lion people. They have no hobbies of their own. Their 
thought is bent on determining our thoughts, our fancies 
and desires, rather than on the dream of an ideal magazine 
for an ideal people. Their aim has been to make a maga- 
zine for the people just as we find them — good, rich, healthy, 
buoyant human nature — not the pale porcelain variety. 


The fiction found in our leading periodicals is of a very 
high grade. It entertains us without contaminating us; it 
gratifies the thirst for the unreal without exciting us to 
frenzy. We may not always become so intensely interested 
in reading it as to burn the midnight oil over it, but it will 
plant in the right kind of a mind a seed that will live and 
bloom and brighten our weary hours. 

Among the most entertaining of the writers on fiction in 
our periodicals to-day we may mention W. D. Howells 
and Rudyard Kipling. They are each portraying charac- 
ters with such vividness and acute imagination that the 
best of our magazine editors keep the doors of the editorial- 
rooms open to them. 

We must all agree with the person who says "Our chief 
periodicals are exhilarating and satisfying with their de- 
lightful literary and artistic aroma and intellectual vigor. 
In a word, they are what the reader of to-day wants when 
he wants to read." 

The periodical writers have covered the entire field of 
literature, and in nearly every instance completely mas- 
tered their subjects. Fashions and fads are not forgotten, 
and some of the smartest of the magazine contributors are 
advising us of the latest of each of these. 

It would be risky to attempt to name the best periodical 
writer of the nineteenth century. It would be difficult to 
name the dozen best, and yet the number has a limit. They 
have been one of the strongest forces among literary activ- 
ity of the century, and their foot-prints are traceable in 
every walk of life. They have written of economics until 
they have helped to found governments, meanwhile others 
have edified the world with thrilling fiction and lyric 

It is considered an education to have access to the writ- 
ings of such a magazine editor as Charles Dudley Warner. 


For years this man has in the pages of Harper s Monthly. 
through novels and short articles, given us the result of his 
varied experience, and now in his old age the Dudley 
Warner compendium forms a most fitting monument to his 
memory. Whether it be merely to while away the long 
summer evenings, or as a means of study and intellectual 
development, whether it be simply as a work of the great- 
est literature of the world, or as a means of education and 
culture, assuredly there never was such a work as Warner's 
and his associate editors. Think of what endless hours of 
recreation and enjoyment one might gain from their pages. 
What an inspiration and uplift, and what a widened 
mental horizon might come from devoting no more than 
an hour a day to its heaped-up wealth of literary riches. 

There is a great deal of indiscriminate reading nowa- 
days, and one of the particularly valuable things about 
Charles Dudley Warner and his associate editorials is that 
they help the reader to discriminate and furnish a safe 
guide to those who would like to go outside for a more com- 
plete and extended study of the writings of this author or 

Then on law and matters of political economy we have 
periodical writers who have won distinction. The subjects 
discussed by them are, as some people say, years ahead 
of their time, such as government ownership of tele- 
graph, telephone, and other public conveniences; and 
the intricate problems and weighty matters that find ex- 
pounders among magazine writers may not find apprecia- 
tion in all the magazine readers, but it must be remembered 
that the menu, so to speak, which a leading periodical 
prepares for its patrons is valuable largely because of its 
variety, so that each and every one may find something 
that gratifies his taste. 

The best value of the leading periodicals is the high 


moral plane upon which they rest, the high-toned manner 
in which they are conducted, the discriminating judgment 
exercised in the selection of thier contents, and the loyalty 
to truth and virtue that is yet awhile the best charac- 

Our leading periodicals have advanced with the spirit of 
aggression that marks this age, but they have kept apace 
without catching too many of the tendencies towards abnor- 
mal and unwholesome progress. They are to-day what 
they have been for a century, our best, most reliable, most 
cautious and most entertaining current literature. 

Josephine Belle Gulley. 


Nature is always full of life, the rising sun is as beauti- 
ful to-day as on the first dawn, the streaming floods, the 
multiplying flowers, "the forces which hurl onward the 
stormy whirlwind of existence aspire and strive with the 
same energy as at their birth," the immortal heart of Na- 
ture is not dead yet, it beats, and its heatings are felt on 
the heart of the poet. Tennyson felt this, and two or three 
times at least he has dared to make it heard. He strays 
through Nature with preoccupation, without fierce passion, 
bent on feeling, relishing and culling from all parts the 
rare and wild flowers whose perfume or beauty could 
charm him. 

In the " Dying Swan " we forget that the subject is almost 
threadbare and the interest somewhat slight in the enjoy- 
ment of the scene in which 


"Some blue peaks in the distance rose, 
And white against the cold-white sky, 
Shone out their crowning snows, 

One willow over the river wept, 
And shook the wave as the wind did sigh; 
Above in the wind was the swallow, 

Chasing itself at its own wild will, 

And far thro' the marish, green and still, 

The tangled water-courses slept, 
Shot over with purple, and green, and yellow." 

Tennyson has the unerring first touch which in a single 
line proves the artist, and it has been said justly that there 
is more true landscape in one stanza of " In Memoriam " 
than in the whole of "that vaunted descriptive poem of a 
former century, "The Seasons." 

He looked for pretty, rustic scenes; he gave us the little 
real events of English life, such as we see in "The May 
Queen," "The Miller's Daughter," and "Dora." In each 
instance the scene lies before us, so careful is Tennyson in 
his sketching, so deeply has the picture sunk into his im- 
agination. The human beings would be of no interest to 
us were it not for the nature that surrounds them; they 
have lived with it so long that they cannot be separated 
from it. In "The May Queen" we can see the maiden's cot- 
tage on the hill, which is covered with flowers: 

The honeysuckle round the porch has wov'n its wavy 

And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckoo- 

And the wild marsh-marigold shines like fire in swamps 
and hollows gray." 

And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to Queen o' 
the May." 


The scenery in "The Miller's Daughter" was familiar to 
Tennyson, for he constantly saw it in the fen-country, and 
it had left its impression on his soul. In one of his rapid 
sketches he lays the whole scene before us: 

"Arise, and let us wander forth, 

To you old mill across the wolds; 
For look, the sunset, south and north, 

Winds all the vale in rosy folds, 
And fires your narrow casement glass, 

Touching the sullen pool below: 
On the chalk-hill the bearded grass 

Is dry and dewless. Let us go." 

In "Miriana" we have still more of true English land- 
scape. In this poem, as in many others, Nature is made to 
correspond with the human feelings. Here is a bit of true 
landscape painting: 

"With blackest moss the flower-plots 

Were thickly crusted one and all: 
The rusted nails fell from the knots 

That held the pear to the gable-wall. 
The broken sheds look'd sad and strange: 

Uplifted was the clinking latch; 
Weeded and worn the ancient thatch 

Upon the lonely moated grange." 

Tennyson in his descriptions of invented landscapes has 
the art of selecting salient features and composing them 
into an artistic picture, such as that seen in the "Vale of 
Ida," where 

"The swimming vapour floats athwart the glen, 
Puts forth an arm and creeps from pine to pine, 
And loiters slowly down," 


or that coral reef where Enoch Arden heard 

"The league-long roller thundering on the reef, 
The moving whisper of huge trees that branch'd 
And blossom'd in the zenith." 

The distinctness of his imagihery or invented landscape 
is not only vividness or truth, but the union of these with 
a certain dreamy and aerial charm. This is seen in "The 
Lotos-Eaters." In this poem men accompany Tennyson to 
the land of southern seas; they return with involuntary 
fascination to verses in which he depicts the compassion of 
Ulysses, whose boat is driven into a shallow bay opening 
into a valley surrounded by cliffs, "down whose sides thin 
streams of silken mists are falling, and at the head of the 
valley three snow-crowned mountains are rosy in the sun- 
set. The vale is rilled with the soft murmur of a river 
which glides through the yellow sand into the sea, over 
which the sun is setting." Everywhere the lotos blooms 
and "sheds its yellow dust upon the weary wind." We 
can get no better idea of the scenery of this poem than that 
which Mr. Brookes gives us. He says: 

"The air is lanquid, and the moon has completed its 
waxing and is full-faced; and the streams fall in slow drop- 
ping veils of thinnest lawn, and their sheets of foam are 
slumbrous, and the snow on the rosy peaks is very old, and 
the amber-light dreams and the waves curve tenderly on 
the land, and the apple on the trees round to fullness and 
fall — full ripe, and all the winds and sounds are low." 

This is the beautiful land of the lotos-eaters, which Tenny- 
son paints for us as no other artist could; this is the laud 
in which Ulysses and his companions, happy dreamers like 
himself, forget their country and renounce action. 

Tennyson's other great quality as a nature-poet is seen 
in the treatment of detail, in vignettes, where the result of 


minute, keen insight is made to rise before us in some magi- 
cal phrase such as "The shining levels of the lake" and 
"The twinkling laurel scatters silver lights"; the shoal of 
fish that "came slipping over their shadows on the plain." 
But a still finer illustration of this is found in " The 
Gardner's Daughter": 

"Night slid down one long stream of sighing wind, 
And in her bosom bore the baby Sleep." 

Among the English poets of the sea, too, Tennyson has a 
high place; he can describe, as in "Elaine," the wind in 
strife with the billow of the North sea, " glimmering toward 
the summit," but especially his verse can give back all the 
tones of the sea upon the shore, and can interpret their sym- 
pathy with the varying mood of the human soul. This 
is seen in " Locksley Hall," where the temper of the man 
is reflected by the landscape — " sandy tracks on which the 
ocean thunders and the curlews cry — the sea on one side, 
the moor-land on the other, and at the last the vapour 
blackening from the moor, with the blast in its breast, to 
fall on 'Locksley Hall.'" 

This is again illustrated in the poem " Lucretius," in 
which Tennyson brings in a storm to represent the tempest 
in the soul of Lucretius. 

Every poem has its own peculiar scenery, each one dif- 
ferent, and yet each one unique. 

Tennyson lived in the country, chiefly on the "Isle of 
Wight," amongst books and flowers, free from the annoy- 
ances, rivalries, and burdens of society, and his life was a 
beautiful dream, as sweet as those lively fancies which he 
has given us. Ethel Worrell. 



"Pour dix-sept siecles une pensee triste et profonde, pe- 
sait sur le coeur de l'homme: le surmoutaut, l'exaltant, 
1'affaiblissant, mais ne perdant, jamais sa prise a travers les 
ecueils de la vie, et ce longue espace de temps." Cette 
pensee etait l'id6e de l'impuissance et de la decadence de 
Thomme. Cette croyance fut causee par la corruption de 
grece et l'oppression de Rome; "ah!" disait les philoso- 
phies, ce monde est perverse, perdu, tachout d'y echapper 
par inseusibilite, eiounement, et par transport." Depuis 
mille ans cette terrible conviction etait profondement gravee 
dans le coeur humain, et si par malheur, une personne 
parlait contre l'autorite, il truvait son oeuvre detruite par 
Fidee que tous etaient soumis a l'obeissance des moines et 
aux reves des fanatiques. Au quatrieme siecle la " lettre 
morte " fut graduellement substitutee a la foi vivante. Ainsi 
a la place du christianisme, ce fut l'eglise; des ferveurs 
morales ce furent les pratiques religieuses; enfin, au lien 
de pensees energiques, la discipline exterieure et mecan- 
ique prit place. Voici, quels etaient les autres signes car- 
acteristiques du moyen age. Mais toute chose a son temps, 
change, et l'age d'invention apparait. 

L'amerique et les Indes sout ajontes a la carte; le monde 
prend une forme; l'art et la litterature j'aiblissent. sortent 
impetueusement, et nous donnent de nouvelles lumieres. 
La religion'est transformee, et Taction du pouvoir de l'es- 
prit est illuminee et recree par les longs efforts. Ceci fut le 
grand age d'Europe, de son acroissement, de l'epoque la 
plus marquee pour la gloire du genre humain, et heureux 
de dire que nous en subissous toujours les effets. Ou trouve 
encore les traces de la Renaissance daus l'Art, l'Architecture 
et la Science. 


Nous admirons l'art Italien, et ces savants Italiens, et 
leur litteratnre se trouvent en contact avec lesdees An- 
glaises. Plus d'un siecle ayant que d'autres nations com- 
mencent k s'eveiller, depuis Petrarque et Boccacio, les Ital- 
iens recouvrerent leur valeur d'heritage, en produisant leurs 
manuscrits ensevelit et en etudiant les anciens. La remise 
en vigueur des arts par les Italiens agiterent le peuple; lui 
donna une nouvelle vie, et dela sortit des sentiments plus 
profonds. L'historie de la sculpture Italienne du temps 
de Michael Ange a Conova, est une histoire de decadence 
jusqu'au style de la Renaissance. 

Le severe realisme qui distingue les oeuvres Italiennes 
du quinzieme siecle, est egalement remarquable dans les 
productions des artistes Allemands. De Petrarche a Boc- 
caccio les principaux 6crivains d'ltalic a cette epoque, nous 
passons an premier auteur, Anglais, Chaucer. Dans tous 
ses ouvrages vous voyez les traces de 1'influence Italienne. 

Ce fut aussi de ces ecoles d'ltalie que des homines tels 
que Colet, Moore, Erasmus tirent leurs inspirations. L'in. 
fluence Italienne ne se faisait pas sentir seulement en liter- 
ature et art mais se repaudit dans toute l'Angleterre. 
L'agriculture commenca a faire de Pavancement. Ou prit 
plus d'interet dans Tart de construire, ou se servit de verre 
pour les fenetres, ou couvrit les mtirs de tapistries et des 
poeles furent inventes enfin tout se presentait sous un plus 
civilise et plus grand aspect. Les etoffes de ce temps etaient 
manifiques, les robes richement ornees et doublees de satin, 
les mauteaux 6taient engraves et les souliers de velours, les 
bottes avaient des neufs tombant et 6taient brodees de toutes 
sortes de figures d'oiseaux et d'aminaux, etc. L'esprit 
artistique de cette epoque trouva dug out dans l'art poetique 
et dramatique. C'etait la joyeuse Angleterre alors, car elle 
n'avait encore rien sentie de la durete de la vie. Les thea- 
tres furent etablis pour 1'amusement du peuple, et les com- 


pagnes d'amateurs qui ne jouaient seulement qu'a la cour 
alors voyagerent dans toutes les contrees. 

Les idees progressives interesserent le peuple, et gradu- 
ellement les hommes s'eleverent au niveau de grands et 
salutaires esprits. lis coraprirent non-seulement la langue 
mais la pensee; ils etaient polis, elegants d'uue certaine 
education, et par-dessus tont avaieut le don de la parole. 
La Renaissance anglaise est la Renaissance du genie Saxon. 
C'est la que nous trouvons la graude amelioration dans la 
poesie, car le peuple ne desirait rien d'autres qu'art, po6sie, 
et plaisir. La surabondance et l'irregularite les deux traits 
de cet esprit, et cette litterature ordinaire parmi tous les 
litterateurs de la Renaissance, etait plus remarquSe ici; car 
la race allemande preferait ressentir une impression ardente 
et forte a Fharmonie des formes Latines. Les anglais 
u'etaient pas capables d'anticiper l'influence de la Renais- 
sance et de la Reformation par le poete Chaucer, moutrant 
leancoup d'influence Italienne. Spencer a cette epoque 
donna au monde sou epique romantique contenant la forme 
allegorique du moyen age, ses decorations embellies par la 
Renaissance Italienne et toute sa beaute et purete pour la 
plus poetique des nations du monde moderne. 

Les relations Italiennes aiderent aussi a exciter la forma- 
tion et developpement du style Francais. Commen9ant 
avec les vieux chateaux de Touraine, et passant plus loin 
nous arrivons aux Tuileries nous pouvons encou tracer 
l'entree de la forteresse de Medival; donner un coup d'oeil 
aux modernes jardins anglais et alors nous pouvous voir 
aisement combien l'architecture etait sous l'influence d'une 
nouvelle Renaissance; la civilisation, et la cour. 

La litterature franyaise repondit vivement aux influences 
de la Renaissance. Elle se develloppa elle-meme, par leurs 
efforts de purifier la diction de la poesie. Ce qu'est Arioste 
pour l'ltalie, Cervantes pour Espagne, Erasmus pour la 


Hollande, Luther pour l'Allemagne, Shakespeare pour 
l'Angleterre (Luther pour I'AUemague), et eufin ce qu'est 
Rabelais pour la France. 

La Renaissance francaise etait aussi riche en etudes clas- 
siques autant qu'elle l'6tait en "arts et en lettres"; mais 
c'est a l'ltalie que la France doit ses premiers progr^s de 

Alors L'absolutiou, 1'independence souveraine fut 6tablit 
et servit de base au gouvernment francais et ce fut un roi 
de France, Louis douze, qui, quand la nation fut ramenee a 
l'ordre, enonca ces famenses paroles "L'etat c'est moi." La 
Renaissance termine le moyen-age, et ouvre les temps 

Ce fut en verite un esprit severe qu'apporta l'6sp6eau lieu 

de paix, montraut ainsi aux hommes leurs fermes devoirs, 

et mettant a toute epreuve force morale et courage. On 

remarqua, dans toutes les parties d'Europe que les chanes 

de nature, les vieilles idees donnerant places a de nouvelles, 

que la science se tint sur un pied ferme, et que la liberte 

politique lutta fortement. Si cela n'ent et6 la Renaissance 

"on forces renaissantes" d'Europe, servait un terme sans 

signification, sans vie ! ! 

Mary G. Smith. 


What a delightful Commencement we have had, and 
how glad we feel that there was no jar or hitch in any of 
the varied exercises of the week ! In the first place the 
meeting of the Alumnae, held on Saturday, June 4th, was 
of great interest, and showed what good work is being 
accomplished for St. Mary's all over the South. Mrs. Ire- 
dell's report was very encouraging, for it proved still further 
to us how fresh in the heart of all our girls is the love for 
their school, and what sympathy and help they give us in 
every movement to extend the usefulness of their Alma 
Mater. This meeting was held in the Art Building, and 
during the informal reception, immediately after the busi- 
ness was transacted, the guests had an opportunity of seeing 
Miss Tenner's beautiful exhibit in art and a great deal of 
the work done by the girls in Science, Mathematics, Litera- 
ture, History, etc. The variety and the beauty of the 
exhibit made by the little folks was really astonishing — 
drawings in pencil, clay modeling, relief maps, illustrated 
work in English, pressed . specimens of flowers, colored 
crayon drawings. Why, you would scarcely believe the 
little tots could do so much, unless you had seen it all. 
And then, the art works! We feel great pride in sur Art 
Department, and we have had so many nice little compli- 
ments about it lately that one can scarcely wonder if we 
are somewhat elated; the work is so finished, so tasteful, 
and shows not only thorough training but real talent. The 
exquisite studies and copies in oil done by Pattie Lewis, 
Sadie Root, Lena Latta and Lucy West, the clear, beauti- 
fully toned water-colors of Susan Marshall and Georgia 
Wilkins; Caroline Means' faithful, well-defined charcoal 
studies, and Tempe Hill's pen and ink work were especially 


worthy of mention. During the past year, too, Tempe Hill 
has made a new departure in Art, and has given us some 
exceedingly good casts from clay models. Our Studio has 
been recently kalsomined, and the soft tint of the walls 
bring out the pictures charmingly. 

On Monday evening the children gave their yearly enter- 
tainment, and, as usual, late comers found not even stand- 
ing room in the parlor. Our parlor, alas ! seems so beauti- 
fully large at all times, except Commencement, and we 
can't understand why it should always shrink so then; so 
many of our fsiends are obliged to take uncomfortable 
places, and sometimes even, no places at all. The little 
folks did themselves great credit : the dumb-bells were good, 
the hoops lively, and choruses, piano and violin solos suc- 
ceeded each other with commendable promptness and good 
execution; but in "The Ruggleses in the Rear" they all 
outdid themselves. For fifteen minutes the audience was 
kept in a constant laugh at the costume and the remarka- 
bly funny admonitions of Mrs. Ruggles (Jennie Trapier) 
and the absurd conduct of all the little Ruggleses. 

On Tuesday we gave "An Evening with Tennyson." 
For the past half year the Senior Class has made a special 
study of Tennyson's poetry, and this "evening" was only 
the natural outcome of that work. The devoting of a whole 
programme to one author was an experiment, and we could 
not but be gratified at the success with which we met. Our 
audience expressed itself as much pleased, and said things 
which our modesty will not allow us to repeat, even under 
cover of an editorial "we." The two papers by Annie 
Barnes and Jessamine Higgs showed both originality and 
ease of expression, the readings were marked by real appre- 
ciation of the poetry and a lack of all bad elocutionary 

The Concert Wednesday evening was one of the best we 


have ever had, and of that and of the exercises Thursday 
morning we will let others than ourselves speak. The 
News and Observer says : 

A few additional words must be said completing the report of the Con- 
cert given at St. Mary's School last Wednesday evening. A marked fea- 
ture of the programme was its diversity and comprehensiveness, and it 
was a pleasure to note that the young ladies rendered their selections 
with an ease, grace, and surety that at once put the audience in the con- 
dition of actual enjoyment. Not a single number was dull nor beyond 
the capabilities of the performer. 

The violin department again carried off high honors, not alone in the 
solo work, but also in the ensemble-playing and in the accompaniments 
to the choruses. The tone and intonation of these young players was 
really good. 

Some brilliant playing was done by the piano pupils; but one thing 
was especially noticeable in all, namely, the clearness in passage work 
and the intelligent phrasing. These two factors, combined with a sing- 
ing touch, made the piano-playing a delightful feature of the evening's 

Among the singers of the evening we made the acquaintance of some 
lovely voices, not only sweet by nature, but showing in their method 
and expression the most thorough and intelligent training. The trio, 
"The Linden Tree," by Schubert, was one of the gems of the occasion. 

The Concert closed with two choruses, accompanied by violins and 
piano. Some lovely effects were obtained by this combination. 

The fact must not be overlooked that all the work shown at these Com- 
mencement Concerts (as well as in the Tennyson programme) is simply 
the legitimate outcome of the year's study, and little, if any, special pre- 
paration is made. 

In the words of a visitor thoroughly acquainted with the work done 
in the most progressive Northern schools: " In all my experience I have 
never seen a more beautiful commencement; and the Concert on Wednes- 
day night was worthy of the best pupils of any of our Eastern conserva- 

Of Thursday morning, the paper says: 

That grand old institution, St. Mary's School, of Raleigh, closed its 
fifty-eighth scholastic year yesterday, held its fifty-eighth Commence- 
ment exercises, and added eleven talented young women to its already 
extended roll of graduates. 

It was very fitting that the mothers, fathers, and friends of the grad- 
uating class who had assembled should be greeted in a salutatory address 
by a charming young granddaughter of the founder of the school, a 


member of the graduating class, Miss Sarah Smedes Root, of Raleigh. 
The very happy and appropriate sentences delicately woven by her into 
a brief but touching salutatory, preceding her graduating essay, was one 
of the. happiest numbers on the day's interesting and highly entertain- 
ing programme. 

It was alike fitting that the exercises of this fifty-eighth Commence- 
ment should be closed by the awarding of diplomas and distinctions by 
so distinguished a son of so distinguished a sire, the present Rector, Rev. 
Bennett Smedes, upon whom has fallen the mantle of the founder of the 
school. There were mothers present, "many of them, who saw class hon- 
ors and distinctions and diplomas descend upon their daughters, who 
stood upon the very spot upon which they had stood in years gone by, 
and received like honors and distinctions. There were even grand- 
mothers who could recall some summer day long ago, when they, too, 
had stepped out from the class-room and paused just long enough on this 
historic rostrum to be crowned with class honors, ere they turned into 
the paths that led into mature womanhood, and through the sunshine 
and shadows of after years. 

Yesterday was a glad day for the friends of St. Mary's. It was the 
climax to the Commencement exercises of 1898. It was the grand finale 
of an eight-months' daily school routine, the ringing down of the curtain 
on one of the most fruitful and prosperous sessions the grand old insti- 
tution has ever enjoyed. 

I might insert here the programme of the delightful exercises and stop, 
but in that programme there was rhyme, music, beauty, logic, elo- 
quence, admonition, sweetness of voice, of manner, of gesture, that the 
type can never reproduce. 

There was not a hitch, no delay, not even an awkward pause. The 
young ladies were all happy in the selection of subjects for essays. The 
accomplished Musical Director was most happy in the arrangement of his 
part of the programme, and the reading of essays, the songs, the instru- 
mental selections, were all charmingly rendered. 

Generous applause greeted each number on the programme, and as 
each fair participant retired she went laden with rare flowers, appro- 
priate tributes from appreciative friends. 

The valedictorian of the class was Miss Katie McKimmon Hawley, of 
Fayetteville. Her valedictory was a gem and she delivered it gracefully 
and with charming ease. 

On the rostrum sat Bishop J. B. Cheshire, Jr., Rev Bennett Smedes, 
Rector and Principal of St. Mary's School; Dr. John Smedes, Dr. M. M. 
Marshall, Mr. W. A. Erwin, Rev. T. M. N. George, and Rev. Dr. Pitten- 
ger. The rostrum was decorated with evergreens and trailing flowers. 
The young ladies of the school marched in. each one dressed in spotless 


white. The hall was filled with the parents of the pupils and friends of 
the school. 

The address to the graduating class by Rev. T. M. George was ornate, 
eloquent and full of valuable suggestions for their future guidance. Mr. 
George is a very pleasing speaker, and the kindly utterances and whole- 
some advice that fell on the ears of these young ladies will be valuable 
guides for them as they step out of the school into the broader walks of 
life. He was listened to with rapt attention not only by the graduating 
c lass and by the other pupils of the school, but by the large crowd of 
visitors present. 

St. Mary's takes this year's vacation after a vigorous and successful 
session. Indeed, there seems to be a new vigor infused into the institu- 
tion, not any forsaking of the high standard upon which the school has 
always rested, but a forward march in the line of modern-day progress. 

During this week two distinguished visitors, Dr. A. Troomer Porter 
and Dr. Frost, of the South Carolina Diocese, have been in attendance 
upon the Commencement exercises and the meetings of the Trustees. 
They were sent by their Diocese to secure information, study the plans, 
curriculum and other features of the school with a view, if their report 
be a satisfactory one, of adopting St. Mary's as the college of the South 
Carolina as well as the North Carolina Diocese. These gentlemen have 
expressed themselves as highly delighted with the school, and there is 
no doubt but they will make a very favorable report on their return and 
that the school will be adopted by the South Carolina Diocese. 

The business affairs of the institution are in good shape. The Board 
of Trustees have re-elected the following Executive Committee: Rt. Rev. 
Joseph B. Cheshire, D. D., Wm. A. Erwin, of Durham; Dr. F. J. Mur- 
doch, of Salisbury; Charles E. Johnson, Esq., and Dr. R. H. Lewis, of 

Dr. Bennett Smedes has been continued as Rector and Principal of the 
institution. The faculty has been arranged for the next session and the 
school will begin its next school year under most flattering auspices. 




CLASSES, JUNE 6, 1898. 

1. Chorus— " Merrily Over the Ocean Spray," . . Richards 

2. Piano Solo— Waltz, Lange 

Bessie Woodward. 

3. Dumb-bells. 

Primary and Preparatory Classes. 

4. French Song — "J'ai du bon Tabac," . . . Traditional 

5. Piano Duett— Polka, . Behr 

Annie Cheshire and Annie Root. 

6. Chorus— "Swinging 'Neath the Old Apple Tree," . Barrowes 

7. Violin Solo — Mazurka, C.N. Alle?i 

Fannie Johnson. 

8. French Song— "A la mode," . . . - . Traditional 

9. Piano Solo— The Market Maid, Bofitn 

Kincey Boylan. 

10. Play — -"The Ruggleses in the Rear." 


Mrs. Ruggles, 

Sarah Maud, 





Miss Kittie, 

Clement M'c Grill, 



11. Piano Solo— By the Brook, 

Annie Root 

12. French Song — "SurlePont," 

13. Hoops. 

Jennie Trapier 

Pattie Carroll 

Alline Young 

Bessie Trapier 

Hannah Ashe 

Katherine Boylan 

Fannie Johnson 

Josephine Boylan 

Juliet Crews 

Nannie Hay 



Primary and Preparatory Classes. 
Accompanist, Miss DELLA WELLER. 




1. Paper — Tennyson's Relation to Life. 

Miss Jessamine May Higgs. 

2. Song — "Tears, Idle Tears," .... 

Miss Emma West. 

3. The Eagle — Musical Illustration, 

He clasps the crag with hooked hands; 
Close to the sun in lonely lands, 
Ring'd with the azure world, he stands. 

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls; 
He watches from his mountain walls, 
And like a thunderbolt he falls. 

4. Reading— The Lady of Shalott. 

Miss Kate Hawley. 

5. Song — "Ask Me No More," .... 

Miss Florence Holt. 

6. Paper — Tennyson's Lyric Poems. 

Miss Annie R. Barnes. 

7. Reading— The Brook. 

Miss Mary Smith. 

Musical Illustration, 

Miss Emma Huger. 

8. Reading— The Lotus-Eaters. 

Miss Sadie Root. 

Musical Illustration, 

9. Reading — St. Agnes Eve. 

Miss Margaret Smedes. 

10. Song — Crossing the Bar, .... 

Miss Helen Willey. 

11. Reading — Trausitus in Lucem, 

Miss Janie Pearson. 

12. Trio and Chorus— " Ring Chit Wild Bells," 

Mac Dowel! 


Dolores and Lack 



Van Dyke 





1. Moszkowski, Krakowiak 

Piano — Miss Allie Dee and Olive Armstrong. 

( Strelezki, Dreams 

' \ Nevin, The Merry, Merry Lark 

Soprano — Miss Helen Willey. 

Violin — Miss Ida E. Martin. 

3. Moffat, Ballade 

Violin — Miss Helen Smedes. 

4. Grodsky, Gondoliera 

Piano — Miss Janie Pearson. 

5. Horrocks, The Bird and the Rose 

Mezzo-soprano— M\ss Florence Holt. 

6. Moffat, Memories. 

Violins 1 \ ^ ss Helen Smedes. 

\ Master James Thomas. 

11. Miss Florence Boylan. 

in. Miss Sarah Cheshire. 

7. Diszt, . Rhapsody No. n 

Miss Margaret Smedes. 

8. Gounod, ...... Sing, Smile and Slumber- 

Soprano — Miss Emma West. 
Violin— Miss Ida E. Martin. 

9. Scharwenka, Polish Dance. 

Violin — Master James Thomas. 

10. Schubert, The Linden Tree 

Trio — Misses Helen Willey, Florence Holt, Emma Huger. 

11. Godard, . . Espagnole 

Piano — Miss Annie Shaw. 

12. Lachmund, Lullaby 

Violins — 1. Misses Helen Smedes, 
11. Sarah Cheshire, 

in. Florence Boylan, 

iv. Master James Thomas. 

13. Diszt, Rigoletto 

Piano — Miss Pattie Dewis. 
(Marshall, . . . . ... Barcarolle 

I4 " "(Campbell, Night Wind 


Piano — Misses Margaret Smedes and Janie Pearson. 



1. Moszkowski, Waltz 

Misses Eliza H. Siminous and Mary Cornelia Thompson. 

2. Salutatory and Essay — Dante Gabriel Rosetti, Poet and Painter. 

Miss Sarah Smedes Root. 

3. Keixie, . Douglas Gordon 

Mezzo-soprano — Miss Louise Pittenger. 

4. Essay — The Value of our Chief Periodicals. 

Miss Josephine Belle Gulley. 

5. Essay — Two Great Actors (Booth and Jefferson). 

Miss Frances Hawks Cameron. 

6. Lack, .......... Tyrolienne 

Miss Mary Sherwood Smedes. 

7. Essay — The Earlier English Lyrists. 

Miss Sallie Burton Harriss. 

8. Schumann, Traumerei 

Violin — Miss Florence T. Boylan. 

9. Essay — A Modern American Novelist. 

Miss Olive L- Armstrong. 

10. Rubinstein, Barcarolle 

Miss Leila B. Philips. 

11. Essay— One of our Chief Singers. 

Miss Margaret H. Smedes. 

12. Hause — The Night has a Thousand Eyes. 

Misses Emma Huger and Florence Holt. 

13. Valedictory and Essay — Four Men Whom the World Loves. 

14. Wachs, Mazurka 

Miss Lois Holt. 


Christiana Busbee, Jennie G. B. Trapier, Sallie L. London (one-half 
year), Margaret H. Smedes, Isabel Busbee, Nannie Belvin, Janie S. Pear- 
son, Kate McK. Hawley, Annie D. Hinsdale, Georgia M. Wilkins, Eliza 
H. Simmons, Sarah S. Root, Lily E. Dodd, Nina W. Green, Bettie D. 
Windley (half year), Mary Cornelia Thompson, Annie R. Barnes (hall 
year), Kate B. Connor, J. Belle Gulley, Leila B. Philips, L. Kate Can- 
nady, Julia H. Harriss, Josephine Ashe (half year), Sallie B. Harriss 
Annie Dughi, Mary S. Smedes, Annie W. Cheshire, Caroline M. Means 
Eugenia Roberts, Annie M. Walker, Mary A. Battle, Ethel Worrell 


Helen L. Smedes, Alice Love, Eleanor C. Emerson, Martha Harding, 
Margaret C. Trapier, Olive L. Armstrong, Emma M. Huger, Annie B. 
Duncan, Ellen D. Hinsdale, Mary G. Smith, Louise H. Urquhart, Eliza- 
beth Montgomery, M. Le Grand Cameron, Annie Love, Jessamine M. 
Higgs, Mattie N. Redford, Maria Bain (half year), Anna Louise Pitten- 
ger, Annie L. Shaw, Windham Trapier, Josephine Brown, Frances H. 
Cameron, Etta D. Perry, Josephine Osborne, Julia S. Bowen. 


Pattie Carroll, Lena Whitfield, Bessie G. Trapier. 


Josephine E. Boylan, Fannie H. Johnson, Catharine Boylan, Camp- 
bell Jones, Katie McG. Smith. 

For progress in the studies of Primary Department: Hannah Ashe, 
Juliet Ci-ews, Nannie Hay. 

Honorable mention and marked improvement: Mary Clark, in Aca- 
demic Department; Eliza Harding, Allie M. Lee, Sarah Cheshire, Annie 
D. Taylor, Emma West, Nannie Jones, Emma Durham, Harriet Orr, 
Eliza Lamb, Conklin Carroll, Helen Moring, Elizabeth Nash, Mabel 
Powers, Myrtle Underwood. 


In Mathematics, History and Literature — Leila B. Philips. 

In Mathematics — Allie M. Lee. 

In Stenography and Typewriting— Sarah Burkhead, Isabel B. Busbee, 
Margaret Susan Marshall, Margaret H. Smedes, Iva F. Upchurch, Mary 
Tonnoffski, Bessie Hines White, Jane Hinton Pescud. 

In History and Literature — Janie S. Pearson. 


Piano — Margaret Smedes, Janie Pearson, Pattie Lewis, Annie Shaw. 
Violin — Helen Smedes, James Thomas. 

Voice — Emma West, Emma Huger, Helen Willey, Louise Pittenger, 
Florence Holt. 


Piano— Allie Lee, Olive Armstrong, Leila Philips, Eliza Simmons, 
Mary Cornelia Thompson. 
Violin — Florence Boylan, Windham Trapier, Sarah Cheshire. 


First Distinction in Oil Painting — Martha B. Lewis, Sarah S. Root. 

Second Distinction in Oil Painting — Lena L. Latta, Lucy West. 

First Distinction in Water-color— M. Susan Marshall, Georgia M. Wil- 

First Distinction in Clay Modelings and in Pen and Ink — Tempe B. 


First Distinction in Charcoal — Caroline Mitchell Means. 

First Distinction in Pencil — Josephine Ashe. 

Distinctions in French — Kate McK. Hawley, Louise Pittenger. 


Violin — Eleanor Emerson, Beulah Armstrong, Fannie Johnson. 

Voice — Alice Makely, May Jenkins. 

Piano — Mary Smedes, Lois Holt, Fanny Bost, Delia Weller, May 
Jenkins, Lucy Leach (half term), Mary Parker Ashe (half term], Eliza- 
beth Montgomery, Harriet Orr, Katie Cannady, Betty Windley (half 
term), Sallie London (half term), Annie M. Walker, Louise Urquhart, 
Eliza Hodges, Harriet Wilkins, Eliza Harding, Mabel Powers, Mary 
Philips, Eugenia Roberts (half term), Anna Kellogg (half term), Annie 
Taylor (half term), Eliza Lamb (half term), Loulk Walker, Josephine 
Osborne (half term), Kincey Boylan, Annie Root, Annie Cheshire, 
Bessie Woodward, Belle Hay, Lizzie Nash. 

Certificates in Stenography and Typewriting were awarded for the first 
time. This business department was introduced last fall and has been 
eminently successful. It is in the charge of a thoroughly qualified 
teacher. The pupils have been enthusiastic and their careful training 
has advanced them rapidly. 

rev. t. m. george's address. 

Young Ladies of the Graduating Class: Your life as school- 
girls at St. Mary's is drawing to its close. The story of its 
occupations, its trials, its achievements, its friendships will 
soon have Finis written on its last leaf. Its experiences 
for good or ill cannot be repeated ; they will now have to 
be stored in the chambers of memory, to be, through all of 
your future life, the failures no less than the successes, the 
most valuable treasures of that life. You will often take 
them out and handle them and keep them fresh in the 
mind. But not only that, they are also to be an unfailing 
source of wealth, which nothing can deprive you of, in 
price, ''above rubies." 

You are to take with you all the store of good things 
which you have here been taught; and I esteem it a very 
great privilege which your honored and beloved Rector 


gives me in asking me to say to you the final word of advice 
and good cheer in regard to the employment of your talents. 
I am sensible also of the responsibility resting upon me to 
urge you to make the very highest use of your attainments, 
so that they may redound to the glory of God and the 
good of men, and so to your own good. 

No place, it seems to me, could be more happily 
chosen than this sweet Chapel, with its sacred associations, 
as the place, where, amid your teachers, and friends, and 
loved ones, you should hear this word. 

And from no less sacred a spot than this altar should 
the message be delivered which would bid you always to 
write upon your thoughts and words. and acts "Holiness to 
the Lord." 

The only way to live successfully is to have a true view 
of the purpose of life and of the wa3 r in which we can in 
the highest possible degree fulfill that purpose. 

One idea of life is to get out. of it for ourselves all that 
we possibly can, not necessarily in the low view of the 
Epicurean, "Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow w r e die"; 
but in the higher sphere of the intellect, and even in that 
of religion, the dominant thought is, reward, self -enrichment, 

But there is another conception of life which finds its 
fitting expression in the words of One who illustrated it in 
His own life and Person, " It is more blessed to give than 
to receive." 

To inscribe upon all our powers "ad majorem Dei 
gloriam," and to employ them not for our own selves, but 
for the furtherance of the welfare and happiness of those 
around us, this is to fulfill the true purpose of life : this 
is to realize our high position as the kings and queens of 

Making thus a sacrifice of life, we take our places before 


the altar of the High God with all the dignity and the joy 
of willing priests; and we find ourselves in full accord 
with the end of our being in rendering unto Him the 
grateful homage of all the powers, mental and material, 
with which He has endowed us, and in so doing we realize 
the purpose of our creation, and so live successfully and 

The glory of life viewed as a sacrifice: this is the thought 
with which I would send you forth to-day, feeling sure 
that if you will but act upon it your life will be "a daily 
psalm of praise." 

Let us look briefly at those various parts which, taken 
together, make the whole of human powers, which we are 
to lay in their entirety upon the altar of sacrifice. 

Let us first look at that which is lowest in the scale of 
our being. 

When you touch my hand, when you hear my voice you 
come in contact with the only means which I have of 
translating to you that which is in my thought. In a word 
it is through those physical powers and endowments which 
God has given us that we make ourselves intelligible to 
other people. Shut them all up, and one might be a genius 
in his intellectual gifts, but would be powerless to influence 
his fellowmen. Hence it is that the care and training of 
the body must have an essential place in all rational edu- 
cation. The day is past when men thought they could 
serve God best by neglecting the body ; or when the main 
evidences of intellectual accomplishments were to be found 
in dyspeptic and debilitated bodies. 

The body is the instrument with which the mind and 
higher man must work, and the power of the body as an 
instrument depends upon its being in a healthy condition, 
and, so to speak, well tuned. No one would think of try- 
ing to bring music out of an instrument all abused and out 
of tune. 


Your Alma Mater has made it her care to look well to the 
physical side of your education. She has insisted upon 
the regular and temperate hours; she has provided whole- 
some and nourishing diet ; she has encouraged the healthful 
and invigorating exercise in calisthenic drill and pleasant 
recreation in order to produce the naturalness and ease of 
manner and carriage which bespeak the St. Mary's girl. 
And her purpose in this has been to give due effect to the 
cultivation of the mind and heart. - 

And as you go hence let the lesson not be forgotten. And 
not only the health of the body should be looked to, but 
what we may call the "mint and anise and cummin" of 
adornment should not be beneath your care. 

All should be looked to with the purpose of making the 
fullest use you can of these temples of the Holy Spirit, not 
only for service in useful toil, but for glory and beauty. 
Keep your health, keep your freshness, keep your beauty ; 
but not for self; not to attract admirers, or to feed vanity; 
but for the good, for the happiness of those who love you, 
and those whom you would win to love God. The dissi- 
pated life grows prematurely old. Beware of the exhaus- 
tions and the exactions of so-called society. Nature always 
makes us pay the penalty for trifling with her laws. The 
ideal which I would set before you is to make the most of 
every element of your womanhood for the glory of God 
and the good of men. 

We need to take every proper care of the body, not as 
an end in itself, but as an instrument. 

Harsh and sour tempers are often the result of sickly 
bodies. Trouble and anxiety and distress to those about 
us come from neglecting this lowest, but essential part of 
our being. 

We should cherish it with a view to prolonging our use- 
fulness, that the mind and spirit may through it serve God 
and perform their ministries to men. 


Then — whether we make the body bow in adoration, or 
labor in the trivial round and the common task ; or yield 
it to brave the dangers of pestilence, or adorn it to grace 
an assemblv, — all will be done with one idea, that it is not 
a master to be served, nor an idol to be worshipped to the 
dethronement of the higher and nobler part of our being; 
but an instrument to be used with all tact and meekness 
and courage in blessing the world. 

And now we come to speak of powers higher and nobler 
than the physical. 

You have an instrument infinitely finer than the body, 
something that says: " Intelligo" I know, I perceive, I 

The mind has been described as having three distinct 
powers, the perceptive power, the power of comparison, and 
the reflective power. By the 'first the mind recognizes a 
truth, discerns a fact. It is to the mind what the hand is 
to the body, and has a prehensile power by which it takes 
hold of that which appeals to the reason and intelligence. 

And next, there is in the mind the power of comparison, 
by the exercise of which we learn to distinguish between 
great things and little things, and between things that are 
true and things that are false. And then binding these 
two other powers, the comparative and the perceptive, there 
is the reflective power, which seeks to know a thing by 
"thinking through it." 

The purpose of an education is to develop and discipline 
these powers. Instruction, the impartation of knowledge. 
is necessary, but it is incidental and subordinate to this 
great end — the training and disciplining of the mind so 
that it may know how to take a firm grasp of the thoughts 
which are presented to it; to turn them over and skillfully 
detect little from great, true from false ; to brood over them 
as it were, in deep and silent meditation, like Mary of old. 


who kept the great mysteries which were revealed to her 
and "pondered them in her heart" — until we arrive at 
conclusions which are true and which are the offspring of 
our own mental efforts. So it is that men and women came 
to astonish and delight the world with the creations of their 
genius — and live the poets, artists, scientists of the world. 

Of men who thus think deeply it must be said that it is 
not so certain that they possess their thoughts as that 
their thoughts possess them. But the result is the enrich- 
ment of the world by works of genius; it may be a viaduct 
thown across an impassable gulf; or it may be a Dome of 
St. Peter's, or a Sistine Madonna; or a Handel's "Messiah," 
or a great book or poem; or again, the application to a 
thousand purposes of the subtle properties of electricity. 

But education is not so much intended to develop 
genius, though genius needs to be directed, pruned, trained. 
Education for the most of us is designed to bring us to the 
point where we can at least have sufficient fellowship with 
genius to appreciate its creations ; to detect the meretricious 
and the shallow, and to adequately esteem that which is 
great and substantial and lasting; to value and enjoy the 
true, the beautiful, and the good, whether in the works of 
God or of man. It is intended to bring us into the goodly 
company of the choice spirits of earth. It labors to fit us 
each to have our own lower part in the great chorus of 
praise under the leadership of master minds, who compose 
and who direct, or at least to be appreciative listeners in 
the audience. 

The work of the class-room, the quiet of the study-hour, 
the dreary practicings in the music-room, the dismal cari- 
catures of our first attempts in art, the solution of problems 
which seem so impossible — all these are designed to con- 
tribute to such a drawing out of our mental powers as shall 
fit us to be imitators, not in a base sense, but in the sense 
of being true followers of the great and wise. 


And we may here make an adaptation of the words of 
the wise man: "Seest thou a student diligent in her tasks 
she shall not stand in the presence of mean men, she shall 
stand before kings." 

But let us not wander farther from our main thought, 
but let us apply it to what has been said is the true pur- 
pose of the instruction and education of the mind. 

"The stores of every sort that you have gathered here — 
honey from the pastures of the literature of the world, the 
gathered gold of ancient wisdom, the ripened harvests of 
learning, the gems and jewels of music and art — they are 
the furnishings for your service; they are the offerings 
which you are to bring to lay upon the altar of a life of 
sacrifice. They are not to be hoarded as though they were 
miserly gains, gotten merely to gratify the pride of learn- 
ing or to minister to selfish vanity. They are to be your 
contributions to the enlightenment of the world. To that 
end, if you would reap the true enjoyment of your treasures, 
you must be constantly bringing forth out of them for the 
benefit of others " things new and old." And, here I would 
have you make a vast distinction between the idea of using 
your knowledge to bless and edify the world and that 
pedantry which makes an ostentatious and uncalled-for 
display of knowledge and accomplishments. It is the same 
great distinction which underlies those two philosophies of 
life of which I spoke in the beginning — the one seeks to 
gain £clat and applause; the other seeks to give — to give 
help and pleasure, and so to employ to a high and noble 
end the gifts and graces with which it is endowed and 

And in this connection let me speak of the folly of 
dreaming that the work of education is finished with the 
recer jug of a diploma. Happily we have the word com- 
mrncement as a protest against such an idea; and as a 


reminder to us that our graduation is only the beginning 
of a broader life in which we are to use, and by use, to 
develop still farther what we have gained in school. 

So far as in us lies, we should act upon the motto "Ad 
perfectiora." When you leave behind you the opportuni- 
ties for study which the school-life gives it may not be 
practicable or desirable for you to pursue many of the 
branches into which you have been initiated : their chief 
work has been finished, and their effect produced in the 
discipline of the mental powers. 

But cultivation in some branch or branches should still 
go on. You should leave your studies as the spire leaves 
the foundation of the cathedral. Your reading should not 
all be light; it should still partake somewhat of the nature 
of study. 

How often do we see the talent of a beautiful accom- 
plishment, like music or painting, lying buried and useless 
because the pressure of other things was allowed, for lack 
of a little management and perserverance, to absorb the 
whole time ; whereas the home might have been rendered 
attractive by those things which were needed all the more, 
as a relief to the prosaic and the menial duties which 
refused to be set aside. 

We need to learn the lesson that our higher powers are 
given us not to please ourselves, nor to be laid aside when 
they cease to be interesting to us, but to be cultivated, and 
so. kept and developed for the good of the world, especially 
of that little world of the villiage, and of the home where 
our lives must be lived and our work done. 

The beauty of a life of sacrifice lies in this, that it may 
win its glory in every kind of field. 

It is not given to many to live in the public eye ; not 
many may go with Clara Barton and her co-workers to 
Armenia, or to Cuba ; but there is another kind of heroism 


no less great because less prominent: a retired heroism, 
which like an unseen force, upholds the world and blesses 
it. It is that which unselfishly remains at home to soothe 
and miuister to aged and invalid parents; to perform the 
duties of mother and sister; to silently and bravely suffer 
while loved ones go to the front to battle for country and 
for humanity; to comfort the unfortunate; to lend the 
helping hand in the home, in the community, in the house 
of God. Such sacrifices sometimes demand far more courage, 
far more patience, than those which the world applauds. 
There is a phase of the box of precious ointment not 
always remembered : It was poured out in the sight, not 
of an admiring world, as in the anointing of an earthly 
king, but in the simple setting of a domestic scene to grace 
a loving and grateful hospitality. 

So let us learn to think that there is nothing too good to 
be laid on the altar of domestic felicity. And now, before 
I conclude, I cannot forbear to speak of a still higher part 
of your education at St. Mary's. 

This place, where you have been taught to worship God 
in the beauty of holiness, stands for that highest part. 
What are all the powers of mind and of body unless they 
be "directed, sanctified and governed" in the ways of God's 
laws and in the works of His commandments. 

The highest culture, unless it may be employed in His 
service, is a doubtful gain. The idea of a Christian school 
and of Christian education is to develop to the full all our 
powers, in order that we may be made nobler instruments 
in the service of God. Cultivate the body, or the mind, 
or both, and neglect the soul, and you leave out of your 
education the most important element of all those which 
go to make up that wholeness which is the one great thing 
to be striven for in the development of the man or the 
woman, if success and not failure is to be written upon 
their life. 


Here, this most essential part of training is given its due 
emphasis. Here, all those instructions which grow out of 
creed and sacraments and Holy Scriptures are faithfully 
imparted. Here, 

"Through her round of holy thought 

"The Church your annual steps has brought," 

and that " round of holy thought" has centered about 
Him who taught us by His own example that if we would 
find our lives we must lose them for others ; we must make 
them lives of self-sacrifice. 

Surely, those who worship here may appropriate to 
themselves the words of John Keble : 

" And yet of Thee from year to year 
"The Church's solemn chant we hear 
"As from Thy cradle to Thy throne 
"She swells her high, heart-cheering tone." 

And, let me as a parting God-speed, make application to 
you to-day of these following verses : 

"Listen, ye pure white-robed souls, 
"Whom in her list she now enrolls, 
"And gird you for your high emprize 
"By these her thrilling minstrelsies. 

"And wheresoe'er in earth's- wide field 
"Ye lift for Him the red-cross shield, 
"Be this your song, your joy and pride, 
"Our. Champion went before and died." 

And may God's blessing go with you. 



St. Mary's has been particularly fortunate this year in 
having several visits from old friends. First of all came 
the Ravenels. We feel that we could not possibly pass a 
year without our Charleston Twins. We welcome them 
each year with renewed joy; each year we love them more 
and say good-bye with greater regret. 

But the Ravenels were not the only friends we had 
from Charleston this year ; Sada Hanckel stopped by on 
her way home from the mountains and delighted us with 
a little visit. This is the first time she has been to St. 
Mary's for several years, and she is the same dear, lovely 
Sada as of old, and we had but one quarrel with her while 
she was here — she would not stay long enough, and we 
felt when she left that we had not had our fair share of her. 

During Commencement week Dr. Frost's visit was a 
source of unusual, and to us, unlooked for pleasure. He 
told us all about Susan and Mary, he came to our evening 
entertainments, and we only hope that he enjoyed us half 
as much as we enjoyed him. His visit, however, was not 
primarily a social one, for he and Dr. Toomer Porter came 
by appointment of Bishop Capers to discuss with our 
Trustees a plan for making St. Mary's the diocesan school 
for South Carolina. Both of these gentlemen expressed 
themselves as highly pleased with what they had seen of 
the school, and we hope that this new tie will soon be 
formed between the sister States. 

St. Mary's has nowhere a truer friend than Miss Clem- 
ent, and not only those who were her friends when she 
was here so many years ago were rejoiced to welcome her 
to Raleigh, but also those of us who knew of her through 


the noble work which she has done in her school at Ger- 
mantown. St. Mary's has never lost its place in her heart, 
and she is constantly showing her interest and appreciation 
of our work. We were glad that both she and Mrs. Lyman 
could be present at the confirmation service in the Chapel, 
for lovely as it always is, there seemed to us to be an unusual 
sweetness and solemnity about the service this year. 

Mrs. Lyman does not come to Raleigh so often as we 
wish, for she was so thoughtful for St. Mary's girls while 
she lived here, and has since shown such an interest in the 
school that we never forget her. 

Mabel Green really made us a satisfactory visit, and it 
was good to find her at odd times looking as natural as 
possible in the teachers' sitting-room. We had some 
delightful chats with her, reminiscing about old times. She 
is a great comfort to us; she can even remember "Uncle 
Nash," and still she isn't at all ashamed to tell her age, for 
she came to St. Mary's when she was almost a baby, not 
quite too old to fall out of bed ! 

Mary and Lizzie Bynum gave us a glimpse of them- 
selves on their way to Philadelphia, but their stay was so 
short we scarcely had time to speak to them, and if they 
don't do better next year- we shan't mention them in our 
June "Personals." 

On Thursday of Commencement week we did have a 
glorious time. Mary Pride Jones and Rettie Boweu had 
been with us for several days, and what a help they had 
been, to be sure; then for dinner. Cary Davis (it is so difficult 
to think of Cary as Mrs. Donald MacRae), Fair Payne, 
Annie Stevenson, Mary Ferebee, Nannie Clark, Pattie 
Lewis, Susan Marshall, and Ethel Dorsey all sat at the same 
table, and renewed their school-days. They said they had 
as good a time as the dignified Trustees at the long table, 


and we believe from the scraps of talk that we heard that 
they did not exaggerate. 

We feel that we have seen a good many of the " old 
girls" this year, but when we hear Mrs. Iredell tell of the 
many, many St. Mary's girls she meets in her trips in North 
Carolina and the neighboring States, we can't help wishing 
so ni times that we might be with her. She has been this 
year to Georgia and Virginia, as well as to many places in 
North Carolina, and she says that every one evinces the 
liveliest interest in the work of the school. The Guilds 
which were established last year are proving very effective 
aids in carrying out the plans for the welfare and success 
of St. Mary's, and she feels very hopeful for the future. 
We know from experience how very glad the "old girls" 
always are to welcome Mrs. Iredell, for her little visits to 
the school during the past year have been a great pleasure 
to us. 

Two of Miss Lee's pupils in Stenography and Type- 
writing were offered work in the town almost before they 
received their certificates. This department, which was 
introduced last fall, has succeeded so admirably that we 
intend to make it much more extensive another year. It 
will be a regular business department, separate from the 
ordinary school course, and will include Stenography, Type- 
writing, Grammar, Arithmetic, Penmanship, and Book- 



edwards & BROUGHTON, 


Programmes, Invitations, Cards, 
Pamphlets, &c. 





123 and 125 Fayetteville Street, 


Selling the best goods at lower prices than any other store. 








PRICE, 25c. and 50c. A BOTTLE. 







Portrait — Rev. Bennett Smedes, D. D. Frontispiece. 

In Memoriam 1 

Verses — The Organ Blower to the Organ Player. — Minna Curtis Bynum 5 

Essay — Idealism in Poetry. — Minna Curtis Bynum 7 

Essay— Methods of Transportation. — Alice Doane Smallbones 19 

Essay — Twilight. — Josephine Ashe Osborne ( 25 

Verses — A Legend of Cupid. — Annie R. C. Barnes 31 

Essay — Ghosts. — Christiana Busbee 32 

Essay — Every-day Heroism.— Idllie Elizabeth Dodd 39 

Essay — Fashions and Follies. — Annie Dughi 45 

Verses — The Bob-tailed Cat. — Annie Pescud 48 

Essay — The Attractions of the Unknown. — Nina W. Green 49 

Essay — The Art of Flattery. — Lucy Katherine Cannady 54 

Essay — The Art of Lying. — Kate Bronson Connor 59 

Verses — The Naughty Chickens. — Annie Root 65 

Essay — The Reading Fad. — Lucie Birdie Clifton 66 

Essay — A Few of Shakespeare's Rustics. — Margaret Trapier 71 

Verses — Alma Mater. — Margaret Mason Young 77 

Storiette — One Side of It. — Minna Curtis Bynum 78 

Pastels in Prose — The Song of the Violin. — Caroline Mitchell Means 82 

A Street Vagabond. — Henrietta Smedes McVea 84 

John and His Dog. — Rebecca Routh Bridgers L 85 

A Street Vagabond. — Janet Dortch 85 

A Landscape. — Minna Curtis Bynum 86 

Churning.— Carrie Laivrens Wright 87 

In Memoriam 89 

Church Work 90 

Class or '99 .___ 92 

Sports and Pastimes 97 

Art-Notes 103 

Music-Notes 104 

Locals 105 

Personals 106 

Among Ourselves 109 

Current Topics 111 

Editorial 113 


Cover Georgia M. Wilkins. 

Essays Annie Hinsdale. 

The Song of the Violin Frances MacRae. 

A Legend of Cupid Josephine Osborne. 

Pastels in Prose Annie M. Walker. 

Corda Caroline Means. 

The Bob-tailed Cat Beulah Armstrong. 

Class Song , Frances MacRae. 

Tennis Club Julia Bowen. 

Walking Club Frances Chadbourn. 

Basket-ball Annie Graham. 

Cycling Club Martha Harding. 

Landscape Caroline Means. 

Minna Curtis Bynum Editor in Chief. 

Lucy Katherine Cannady, Christiana Busbee, ] 

Kate Bronson Connor, Lucie Birdie Clifton, V Assistant Editors. 

Alice Doane Smallbones, j 
Josephine Ashe Osborne Business Manager. 





RALEIGH, N. C, JUNE, 1899. 



BY J. B. C, JR. 

If men are to be estimated by the purity and simplicity 
of their Christian character and by the value of their life- 
work to the church and to the community, few names de- 
serve to stand higher than that which appears at the head 
of this article. The Rev. Bennett Smedes was the second 
of a family of nine sons and three daughters of the late Rev. 
Aldert Smedes and Sarah (Lyell), his wife. He was born 
August 7, 1837, in New York City, but in 1842 his parents 
removed to Raleigh, where he grew up. He was educated 
at St. James' College, Washington county, Md. , under those 
eminent men, Kerfoot and Colt. He was graduated at the 
General Theological Seminary in 1860, and on July 1 of 
that year was ordained deacon by Bishop Atkinson in 
Trinity Church, New York. 

He served for a year or two as assistant to Dr. Coxe (after- 
ward bishop) in Grace Church, Baltimore. Feeling it to be 
his duty to return to Raleigh during the civil war, Bishop 
Whittingham refused him letters dimissory, but he suc- 
ceeded in passing through the lines, and Bishop Atkinson re- 
ceived him, without letters dimissory, and advanced him 
to the priesthood in Christ Church, Raleigh, July 26, 1863. 
Upon his first coming South he served for a while as chap- 


lain to a North Carolina regiment in the Confederate army, 
but was soon called to the assistance of his father in St. 
Mary's School, Raleigh. In 1877, upon the death of the elder 
Dr. Smedes, he became principal of this school, and so contin- 
ued until his own unexpected demise, February 22, 1899. 
Outside the life of the school his activity as a clergyman was 
confined to diocesan affairs, or an occasional service ren- 
dered his brethren of Raleigh. He served for a number of 
years as one of the Bishop's examining chaplains, was long 
a member of the Standing Committee and other important 
committees of the Convention, and a trustee of St. Augus- 
tine's Normal School. Some years ago the University of 
North Carolina recognized his eminent services in the cause 
of education as well as his scholarly character and attain- 
ments by conferring upon him the honorary degree of Doc- 
tor of Divinity. 

The work of his life was that of a teacher and educator 
of girls. His was one of those restrained and balanced 
characters which, having formed its sphere, keeps within it 
and wastes none of its energies in eccentric efforts or de- 
sires. Having been in a measure dominated by the more 
aggressive and masterly character of his distinguished 
father, he assumed with great reluctance the headship of 
St. Mary's School, when the elder Dr. Smedes died, twenty- 
two years ago; but having been induced to assume the re- 
sponsibility for this great and beneficent work, he gave him- 
self to it with an unselfishness and devotion which flowered 
and bore fruit iu the many lives of beautiful and accom- 
plished Christian women, whose opening minds and char- 
acters he impressed with something of the refinement and 
culture of his own. 

In school his best work was rather that of a co-ordinator 
and inspirer of stimulating and guiding influences and of 
a faithful pastor than of a mere teacher of books. He 
gathered about him during his long administration a num- 


ber of truly able and admirable teachers, and, with what- 
ever of unavoidable changes as the years went by, he pre- 
served the distinct and characteristic flavor of moral and 
spiritual culture which has made St. Mary's School under 
him and his father dear to the hearts of Southern church- 
men. He commanded the respect and affection of all his 
pupils, and the name of Smedes will not soon be forgotten 
in the hundreds of households all over the South where his 
influence has been felt for good. 

No one can know the opportunities the head of a school 
has for doing noble deeds of charity to deserving and needy 
young persons, and no one therefore can estimate the good 
thus done by Dr. Smedes ; but he availed himself of these 
opportunities with an unstinted generosity which could not 
always be hidden. There are the best of grounds for be- 
lieviug that a large proportion of his pupils were more or 
less indebted to him for advantages they were unable to pay 
him for. 

He was of a family singularly handsome in person, gra- 
cious in manner, refined in culture, and entertaining and at- 
tractive in all social relations. His death is felt to be a loss 
to the community in which he lived as well as to the 
Church at whose altar he served, and whose daughters he 
trained to be as the polished corners of the temple. His 
friends loved as well as honored him, and all who knew him 
desire to call themselves his friends. He leaves a widow 
and three daughters to thank God for the heritage of honor 
and of piety which he has left them, and the Church in 
North Carolina and the people of North Carolina claim a 
part with them in thus honoring and lamenting him. 


BY W. B. 

The entire South mourns with Raleigh over the death of 
Rev. Dr. Bennett Smedes, one of the best and purest men 
who has ever lived in North Carolina. Although he was 
not a native of the State, his life and work has been closely 
interwoven with the moral and intellectual development of 
the South, and his influence will live through endless ages. 
In his life were blended the two most divine and man-lov- 
ing of all occupations, namely, the work of the minister 
and the teacher, the spiritual and the intellectual shepherd. 
Why should the two be separated ? The intellect, which 
develops at the expense of the heart, leads to gross, cruel 
materialism, and the heart which softens while the mind 
dwindles, enters the frightful forest of superstition. In the 
life of this good and wise man the world has seen the sub- 
lime example produced by a warm, sympathetic heart, 
which time and trouble only made the more responsive to 
the wants of the poor and the cravings of the afflicted, 
united with a strong, active mind which was ceaseless in its 
research for truth. 

What could be more noble than such a life? Who can 
estimate the worth of such a life? 

The warrior's name, 

Though pealed and chimed by every tongue of fame, 
Sounds less harmonious to the grateful mind 
Than he who fashions and improves mankind. 




umble? Perhaps; mean, too, perhaps; yet I, 

Whose work-stained sonl should grovel on the ground, 
Lost in this gilded splendor, seem more nigh 

That far away sweet shadow land of Sound, 
Whose echoes come like voices from a world 

Wherein you live. The great song-angel wakes 
For you. His wide, unwavering wings unfurled, 

Waft melody across the world that shakes 
The heart of men like thunder. Yours the power 

To make the world some brighter for your life, 
To send a gleam of glory in an hour. 

Heavy with heart-throbs, yours to calm this strife ; 
To lift the soul above the sordid things 

Of earth to that dream castle where deep peace 
Falls like a benediction from the wings 

Of angels; where the haunting visions cease, 
And one clear light shines always through the gloom, 

Whose air is swift with steady, upward rush 
Of spirit-wings, dull with the weight of doom, 

Yet calm even in the sadness of their hush 
Where lilies lift sweet faces up, soul-sad 

In the deep dimness of the Easter dawn, 
And pale with longing for the perfect, glad, 

Gold light of that eternal Eastern morn. 


The knowledge of all this is yours and more. 

More power lies in your little ringer's touch 
Than in my body, yet I hear the rush and roar 

Of coming music, with a gladness such 
As comes to those who make it ; my one power 

Is not a great one. Humble, every-day 
Hard work, yet even bodily nearness every hour 

Draws me more near the thing for which I pray. 
I fill the organ's mighty lungs with air, 

Giving it power to speak, but you inspire 
The song that gives me, even in part, my prayer, 

Communion with music's soul, that sacred fire 
Whose unseen halo wraps musicians round. 

And I so near, am yet so far away 
From that warm, wistful world of whispering sound 

Where even I may enter in some day. 

Minna Curtis Bynum. 


an is his own star, his soul his own sun, and its every 
window should be clear and stainless, that the pris- 
matic light may stream through to unite in the broad 
white ray of spiritual perception. The dark wings of doubt 
and sin and sorrow have cast their sullen shadow across 
many a soul. A soul, which like the perfect ray, robbed of 
a single part, can thenceforth color, but never again illumi- 
nate its world. Its dazzling brilliancy is not absorbed, but 
refracted back into the soul, casting about it a glamour 
only pleasing when it blinds us to the truth. Do we for- 
get that only God's pure sunlight and man's simple truth 
can give us the world in its perfect beauty and sincerity? 
It is truth for which we seek, and thus, "lest we forget," 
the destiny of every human being is directed and con- 
trolled by influences which guide it out of the dull-grey 
plane of every-da}' existence into the glory and beauty of a 
realm pulsing with the ver}' heart of life itself. We are 
essentially soul and spirit, but with some of us the only 
life of any true and enduring interest is forgotten and suf- 


fered to be smothered in the mass of details making what 
is called our daily lives. With many more the voice call- 
ing to the heart of man is ever heard, clear and insistent, 
through all the din of worldly voices which deafen us to 
its inspiring words; is heard as a thing apart, to be under- 
stood when the soul is alone with all the beautiful things 
of the unseen world of the ideal. It is only the few great 
souls who have learned life's mystery and fathomed its 
beautiful secret, who realize that the spirit of idealism must 
surround and inspire the heavy clay of the material. 

The work of man is to bring the souls of men together. 
The greatest factor in this union is the greatest art, whether 
it be the steam-engine and electric car, or whether it be art, 
music, and poetry ; the task is the same. There must be a 
co-ordination of force in whatever way it be effected. If the 
steam-engine, in bringing men's bodies nearer together, 
brings their souls likewise, that is the greatest art. If man's 
soul is best expressed in painting, music, poetry, these are 
the greatest arts. 

Poetry is the activity of the soul in large. It consists in 
the "delight of the ego in taking cognizance of the spiritual 
rather than the material. " The mind can never be sat- 
isfied with the literal exterior meaning of things. It must 
abstract from them a certain something not objectively sup- 
plied. As human capacity to read the secrets of the world 
continues, the ability to communicate these truths to other 
minds increases. Man learns truth through his own ex- 
perience or that of others; for this reason the poet's burden 
is a heavy one. Heavy with the sight of those who can- 
not see, and for whom he must paint his vision, that thej^ 
may see; heavy with the weight of hearing for those who 
cannot hear, and for whom he must make music, that they 
may hear; heavy with the thought of those who cannot 
understand, and for whom he must translate his mind, that 
they may say "that is my own thought." Poetry is there- 


fore an art: first, because it must give pleasure through 
the perfection of form ; without that it is vain. The world 
will never really care for it. "A man may be as wise as 
Solomon, as honest as Diogenes, as instructive as the en- 
cyclopaedia, but unless he can learn to write without 
weariness or tediousness, unless he can lend to his verse 
that subtle charm of style which comes from the harmony 
of measured sound, the world will say to him with Heine, 
"Das haettest Du Alles sehr gut in guter Prosa sagen 

Poetry, like all the creations of earth, even the most per- 
fect, requires an outward form to symbolize its inward 
meaning. Originally one with music, it is even now sepa- 
rated only by actual tone. Its harmony is as perfect as 
that of the most beautiful chord combinations. It adds to 
all the richness of tone color and quantity, a picture more 
perfect than any which has ever glowed upon the canvas 
of an earthly artist. It is the prophetic art, because its 
object is to give to man the intimations of that immortality 
which we all feel without the power of expression. Pro- 
phet and poet are fundamentally the same, in that "they 
have penetrated, both of them, into the sacred mystery of 
the universe, what Goethe calls ' the open secret. ' The open 
secret, open to all, but seen by almost none. That divine 
myster}' which lies everywhere in all beings, ' the divine idea 
of the world, that which lies at the bottom of appearance. ' " 

The poet is compelled by the necessity of his being to 
share with the world that beautiful secret in which he 
lives. To him "the beautiful is higher than the good, the 
beautiful includes in it the good." His is the 'seeing eye' 
which perceives the inner harmony of things, whose re- 
ward is that "he is made one with nature." He can- 
not set his thought before us, but his thought as he could 
translate it into the language of another world than his. 
According to the depth of our dumb-greatness, we must 


learn to know the inarticulate depths of the hero poet's 

Since poetry is the art of life, there is of necessity a mul- 
tiplication of theoretical divisions, as in life itself. "The 
empirical thinker requires a mechanism to connect the 
Divine Spirit with his own." The realists live essentially 
in the world of form. Unlike the materialists, a spirit 
exists for them in everything, but an unspiritualized spirit, 
inseparable from the enveloping form. It is impossible to 
exhaust the significance of any object. "In the commonest 
human face there lies more than Raphael will take away 
with him," for the eye sees in all things that which it 
brought with it, the faculty of seeing, and no eye can see 
all the truth. But realism, untouched by any spirit of 
idealism, is degraded into a mere practical utilitarianism. 
"Can we ask the uses of a poet? We will not estimate the 
sun by the quantity of gaslight it saves us. The poet shall 
be invaluable or of no value." 

There can be no truth in any unlovely thing. Beauty 
may be hidden behind a cloud of misery. Truth and 
falsehood may exist side by side, may exist in the same 
object, but they can never be one. Truth may be in an 
unlovely form, gloryfying it until it appears beautiful ; yet, 
it is the beautiful spirit, not the ugly form, which is true. 
We cannot imagine that anything true will be lost, for 

"No beauty nor good nor power 

Whose will has gone forth, but each shall survive for the 

When Eternity has affirmed the conception of an hour." 

Yet, if these unlovely forms be true, shall they not exist 
forever? We cannot but believe that "The partial and 
temporary are always being taken away that the perfect 
and eternal may arise out of their tombs and bless us." 
"Only of those men who can bring a new meaning into 


life, touch it with glory and link it with immortality, will 
the world say, 'these are my great poets.'" 

The idealist, however, does not seek his beauty only in 
another world. There is beauty in all things, and the true 
idealist finds it everywhere: 

"A primrose by the river's brim 
A yellow primrose is to him." 

But far more an expression of the infinite as well. He de- 
tects the inmost mystery of melody lying in the heart of 
all things, whereby alone they may exist. "All inmost 
things are melody ; naturally utter themselves in song. A 
kind of inarticulate, unfathomable speech, which leads us 
to the edge of the infinite and lets us for a moment gaze 
into that. It seems, somehow, the very central essence of 
us. Song, the primal element of us ; of us and of all 
things. Poetry, therefore, is musical thought. See deep 
enough and you see musically, the heart of nature being 
everywhere music if you can only reach it." That which 
a man's soul utters is changeless. That which is uttered 
by the outer passes in swift and endless changes. The 
outer is finite, the inmost infinite. The idealist does not 
long for beauty for its sake alone, but for something beyond 
to which it leads. When the soul learns that the material 
world cannot satisfy its desires it will revolt against the 
actual. But, "It is by the sweat of his brow" that man 
must eat also his spiritual bread. Environment must be 
conquered in the spiritual as in the material sphere. It is 
only after long and bitter struggle with the actual forces of 
the universe, that we rise to the consciousness that Being, 
not Doing, is man's supreme duty; that character poten- 
tially includes action. The idealist must find the human 
in supreme ideals, that their realization may be within the 
grasp of other souls. Poetry which makes concrete and 
tangible the thoughts existing potentially in our minds is 


true according to the degree in which it translates into act- 
uality the inherent idea. The ego must go beyond the 
outer manifestation and take cognizance of the spirit. The 
divine must be realized for humanity, for " The age of 
idealism is the age of sympathy, not alone of man with 
man, but with everything that God has made." 

Men demand a new prophet, a fresh dispensation of 
spiritual truth. They have awakened to the fact that not 
the outer form, but the inmost transcendent experience is 
truth. They must fathom the depths of their souls. They 
must know the secrets of the world. Our greatest poets, 
therefore, have been idealists, that is, they have seen that 
the ideal and the real are one. Each and every poet has 
an idealism of his own. "Spenser was the voice of one 
crying to prepare the way for one greater than himself." 
His ideals were noble and genuine, but they were those of 
another age, and could not satisfy his own. Living himself in 
a Land of Shadows, Spenser ignored the beautiful world of 
sunshine and of life about him, and the thin, evasive forms 
of his creations flit by us spirit-like against the vivid back- 
ground of his fancy. The abstract ideas of truth and of 
beauty were more to him than their concrete embodiment. 
In so far he had grasped the primal truth which all must 
know some day. But it is equally true that there must be 
some form "to hold that puff of vapor down, man's soul," 
and Spenser's fairy-like creations have only form enough 
to hold them hovering lightly in the cloud-land, where 
poets dwell — not enough to hold them in the sunlight of the 
visible world, and he is therefore the "Poet's poet," not the 
poet of the world and of men. Man cannot speak to man 
in thought, though to the spirit-world the dumb voice of 
his soul is glorious song. 

Foremost among these idealists who separated ideal from 
real moved Shelly, "The Sun-Treader," "The Prince of 
Poets," spirit-like in a world which was spiritual. His 


idealism is too exquisitely sensitive to breathe the air of 
earth. "Like an embodied joy whose race is just begun," 
he, with the sky-lark, " pours out his full heart in profuse 
strains of unpremeditated art." Himself "interpreter be- 
tween the gods and men," "on tip-toe seemed to touch upon 
a sphere too gross to touch" : 

" Within his subtle being. 
As light and wind within some delicate cloud 
That fades amid the blue noon's burning sky, 
Genius and death contended." 

The idealism of Keats is an ethereal, many-hued, rainbow- 
winged spiritualism. 

"A thing of beauty is a joy forever, 
Its loveliness increases, it will never 
Pass into nothingness." 

In these delicate souls the essence of idealism was su- 
preme ; no touch of any grosser element existed. But in 
Wordsworth the two forces were ever present, though un- 
reconciled. He was either Wordsworth the Realist, or 
Wordsworth the Idealist, never the Ideal-Realist. In his 
inspired moments he reached a high, calm, meditative 
idealism which has never been more perfectly expressed by 
any other poet : 

"To me, the meanest flower that blows can give 
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears." 

Yet, to all this swarm of warm, bright souls, idealism was 
beauty ; not beauty of form necessarily, but the truth of 
beauty. The idealism of Robert Browning is the beauty of 
truth. It has been the work of an age, called hard and 
practical, to unite the ideal and the real, that those who 
cannot see the ideal without the real may see the ideal in 
the real, and this work has been accomplished by two of 
the greatest poets the world has ever known. 


To Browning, " the subtlest assertor of the Soul in Song," 
the real is perfect, though incomplete. His is the strong, 
decisive grasp that will not let truth go ; his the firm, brave 
trust in the final triumph of good that makes him so essen- 
tially wholesome. 

"I never met 
His face before, but at first glance 
I felt quite sure that God had set 
Himself to Satan, who would spend 
A moment's distrust on the end." 

The spirit of the age shaped the great realist, Shakspere., 
and the great idealist, Browning, in radically different molds. 
Each was the mirror of his time. The age of Shakspere 
was full of adventures and action ; that of Browning, full 
of vast, Titanic struggles of the human soul to reach the 
truth. Shakspere created a world of " throbbing actuality 
of keenest living"; Browning, a mentality so passionately 
alive that "its manifold phases should have all the reality 
of concrete individualities." 

The age of realism, like that of idealism, was true, but it 
was merely a phase in the great eternal character of the 
world. The spirit of realism consists in a broad synthesis of 
vivid vision. The spirit of our own age, combining the ideal 
and the real, apprehends that quintessential movement, or 
mood or phase, wherein the soul is transitorily visible in its 
lonely pinnacle of light. This spirit, so strongly found 
in Browning, by a more scientific abduction, " compels the 
complex varyings of each soul-star to a singular simplicity 
by an acute psychic analysis. " " The profoundest insight," 
however, "cannot reach deeper than its own possibilities of 
depth. The phisiognomy of the soul is never visible in its 
entirety." No human being has ever seen even his own soul, 
save in a faint, deceptive silhouette. Browning deals with 
human thought evinced in human action, rather than hu- 


man thought alone or human action alone. It is Brown- 
ing's greatest glory that he has held "that puff of vapor 
down," for his poetry is a stage "where naked souls meet 
and wrestle as they play the great game of life for counters, 
the true value of which can only be realized in the bullion 
of a higher life than this." "Browning's music is oftener 
harmonic than melodic." He is the Wagner of poetry. He 
himself, "made up of an inteusest life," chose deliberately 
to sacrifice that exquisite, overrapturing joy in beauty alone 
to that ideal of poetry which he has given to the world. 
Browning was the first writer of our age. or of any age, to 
combine the two uuco-ordinated forces "of the uncommuni- 
cable dream," and to indicate "this transrautive, this in- 
spired and inspiring underspirit, which is the deepest mo- 
tor in the evolution of our modern poetry." Indeed, the 
difference in philosophy and theory, as well as in spirit and 
embodiment, is found in his own words: "Keep but ever 
looking, whether with the body's eye or the mind's, and you 
will soon find something to look on ! Has a man done won- 
dering at women? there follow men, dead and alive, to won- 
der at! Has he done wondering at men? there's God to 
wonder at." 

"Sometimes do we not turn longingly, wonderingly, to 
the young Dionysos, upon whose forehead was the light of 
another destiny than that which descended upon him? 
The Icelanders say there is a land where all the rainbows 
that have ever been, or are yet to be, forever drift to and fro, 
vanishing and re-appearing like immortal flowers of vapors. 
In that far country it may be also the unfulfilled dreams, 
the visions too perfect to be fashioned into song of the 
young poets who have won the laurel." Yet Browning's 
work was greater in its wide, hopeful humanity than it 
could ever have been in the faint echo-like beauty of the 
rainbow glory. In his clear knowledge of the truth he has 
given us such songs as that from "Pippa Passes": 


"The year's at the spring, 
The day 's at the morn, 
Morning 's at seven, 
The hillside 's dew-pearled, 
The lark 's on the wing, 
The snail 's on the thorn, 
God 's in His Heaven, 
All's right with the world." 

The earth is full of truth and beauty ; no smallest thing 
without its significance, yet its perfect development is be- 

"There shall never be one lost good: what was shall live as 
The evil is null, is naught, is silence implying sound. 
What was good shall be good, with for evil, so much good 
On the earth the broken are, in Heaven the perfect round. 

All we have willed or hoped or dreamed of good shall exist, 

Not its semblance, but itself; no beauty, nor good, nor 


Whose word has gone forth, but each shall survive for the 


When Eternity has affirmed the conception of an hour. 

The high that proved too high, the heroic for earth too hard, 
The passion that left the ground to lose itself in the sky, 

Are voices sent up to God by the lover and the bard ; 
Enough that He heard it once. We shall hear it by 
and by. 

And what is our failure here but a moment's evidence 
For the fullness of our days? Have we withered or ago- 
Why else was the pause prolonged but that music might 
issue thence? 
Why rushed the discords in but that harmony might be 


Sorrow is hard to bear and doubt is slow to clear, 

Each sufferer says his say, his scheme of the weal and 
But God has a few of us whom He whispers in the ear; 
The rest may reason and welcome; 'tis we musicians 

The idealism of Tennyson is as hopeful but not so trust- 
ful as that of Browning. His ideal of another world is as 
beautiful and high. His ideal for this is less joyful and 
less perfect. His is a slow, progressive meliorism, Brown- 
ing's a glad, absolute optimism. Yet, Tennyson it is who 

"Follow knowledge like a sinking star 
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought." 

He it is who would follow the gleam of spirit-life 

"Out of the darkness, 
Silent and slowly, 

The Gleam that had waned to a wintry glimmer 
On icy fallow 
And faded forest, 
Drew to the valley 
Named of the Shadow, 
And slowly brightening 
Out of the glimmer, 
And slowly moving again to a melody 
Yearningly tender, 
Fell on the shadow. 
No longer a shadow, 
But clothed with The Gleam ; 
And broader and brighter, 
The gleam flying onward, 
Wed to the melody, 
Sang through the world ; 
And slower and fainter, 


Old and weary, 
But eager to follow, 
I saw, whenever 
In passing it glanced upon 
Hamlet or city, 
That under the Crosses 
The dead man's garden. 
The mortal hillock, 
Would break into blossom. 
There on the border 
Of boundless ocean, 
And all but in Heaven, 
Hovers The Gleam ; 
Not of the sunlight, 
Not of the moonlight, 
Not of the starlight ! 
Ere it vanishes 
Over the margin, 
After it, follow it, 
Follow The Gleam." 

His creed, his confession of faith in the ideal of the real 
is expressed in his "Flower in the Crannied Wall": 

" Flower in the crannied wall, 

I pluck you from the crannies, 
Hold you here, root and all, in my hand, 
Little flower — but if I could understand 
What you are, root and all, and all in all, 

I should know what God and man is." 

The ideal of this age, whose exponents are Browning and 
Tennyson, has found no more perfect expression than in 
the "Bugle Song," where the soul of man speaks to man 
as it has never before spoken : 

" Our echoes roll from soul to soul 
And grow forever and forever." 

Minna Curtis Bynum. 




ovement, migration, is the natural instinct of man. 
Perhaps we derive from our Darwinian ancestor, the 
chimpanzee, a desire for constant motion ; but however that 
may be, we find the rudest savages, not content with their 
own natural powers of locomotion, making for themselves 
various and artificial conveyances. 

No art is more closely connected with the increase of civi- 
lization, and no art has made steadier progress in the world's 
history than transportation. The news which years ago 
took weeks to reach us comes now in a few hours. In an- 
cient times sorrowing hearts received the news of peace days 
after it was declared, whereas in our late war the whole 
world knew a few hours after the last gun was fired. 

The interiors of continents have always been compara- 
tively closed to primitive man by the forests and moun- 
tains, and, as he had no artificial paths to follow, he used 
exclusively his natural roadways, the rivers, lakes and 
small seas. Therefore we expect to find the earliest means 
of transportation, conveyances whose chief characteristic 
was to float. How delighted must have been the heart of 
the Indian when this conveyance was given to him by Hia- 
watha in the shape of a bark canoe. The early Fins, too, 
recount among the greatest gifts of their benefactor, Waiva- 
maven, the rough, rude boat in which they could traverse 
their small rivers and their dark blue lakes. 

At the mention of marine navigation our minds naturally 
turn to that noted marine exploit of Jonah's. We nineteenth 
century people, degenerate with our notions of ease and 
comfort, will doubtless fix our minds upon the unpleasant- 
ness of his situation rather than upon its startling novelty. 
However attractive the consideration of this unique voyage, 
with the besetting sin of our later days to regard as of chief 


importance practical things, we must turn our attention to 
crafts which are the handiwork of man. 

Ages ago the conceptions of man were narrow. Each 
man's home was a little kingdom, and he was the king. 
Then why should he trouble himself about this vast world 
so far away from him? But he did trouble himself about 
the necessities of life, for which he was forced to look be- 
yond the bounds of this narrow kingdom. The Phoeni- 
cians, who were the greatest navigators of this early age, 
became expert in making the boats and ships for transport- 
ing these necessities. The boats at first were rude canoes 
which could only accomodate a few, but as man's concep- 
tions broadened and unsociality became a thing of the past, 
larger ones were made, some of which were propelled by as 
many as three tiers of oars. For many a generation these 
were the only boats ; soon, however, there came a change 
when man came to realize that perhaps the wind was an 
agent to do his bidding. Naturally there followed the in- 
troduction of sails. Doubtless to the sailor of those days 
this discovery and application must have seemed the rea- 
lization of all the dreams of iEolus. For now to his puny 
strength was given the guidance of the winds, from the 
fierce northern blast to the balmy west wind that swept 
from the Elysian Fields. A good row-boat or a good sail- 
boat must have given delight to a genuine sailor of olden 
times, but when the combination of these propelling 
forces was hit upon, his delight must have been unbounded. 
And during the later years of Phoenician supremacy such 
ships whitened the waves of the Mediterranean. The Phoe- 
nicians, great sailors as they were, ventured farther and 
farther out upon the sea, until at last they reached that 
world which had hitherto been a mystery to the Orient. 
Although these ships were convenient, they were decidedly 
untrustworthy, for they had that great inconvenience which 
every sail-boat has — the possibility of being becalmed. 


One may stand on deck and whistle all day for the wind, 
but it does not blow until it chooses. 

Passing hurriedly over the times of Mediaeval history ; 
when the three small vessels of Columbus made that voy- 
age so interesting to the Americans, when the plucky Dutch 
ships held their own on the ocean, when the unwieldly 
Spanish galleons were put to flight by Drake's quick-mov- 
ing fire ships; we come down to these present times, when 
"Brittania rules the wave," and when Dewey takes Manila. 
All of these difficulties and inconveniences have been over- 
come by Fulton's great invention, that funny little steam- 
boat, which showed its feeling of importance by puffing 
out clouds of black smoke, making as much noise as it pos- 
sibly could, and splashing the water about in a knowing 
and consequential fashion. This wonderful invention has 
advanced rapid and convenient transportation marvelously, 
and the rude little steam-boat has been gradually im- 
proved until finally we have to-day great ocean steamers 
which plunge through the waves between the continents in 
a few days. 

Steam and electricity have been recognized ever since 
their discovery as a force and power, but the world has al- 
ways looked upon the throbbing engine and the powerful 
motor as the most prosaic of man's servants. What poetty 
could be found in the whir and dust of machinery? But 
he who can see their poetic possibilities has lately come 
among us, and we now have a "man like Robbie Burns to 
sing the song o' steam," its 

" Interdependence absolute, forseen, ordained, decreed, 
To work, ye'll note, at any tilt an' every rate o' speed, 
An' singin' like the Morning Stars for joy that they are made; 
While, out o' touch o' vanity, thesweatin' thrustblock says: 
'Not unto us.the praise, or man — not unto us the praise!' 
Now a' together, hear them lift their lesson — theirs an' mine: 
Law, Order, Duty, an' Restraint, Obedience, Discipline!'" 


Row-boats and sail-boats are now used almost exclu- 
sively for pleasure and exercise. 

Before the sixteenth century, on Venetian waters, gayly 
colored gondolas might have been seen flaunting the bril- 
liance of their gaudy satin hangings. After this, however, 
lavish ornamentation was done away with by laws forbid- 
ding the use of any color except black, hence, at the present 
day, we see only the royalty using these lovely old-time 
gondolas. They are long, narrow boats with high, curved 
prow and stern, which rise up out of the water, and they are 
propelled by long poles which, when used skillfully, send 
them with a swift, smooth sweep through the water. In 
Japan the pleasure boats are sometimes drawn through the 
water by swimmers tied to the boat. To Japanese maidens 
this might seem pleasant, but to us it seems too cruel to be 
desirable. Sinbad the Sailor made a most novel trip on 
the back of a fish, and of all the charming adventures of 
this most charming adventurer, perhaps this is the only 
one whose insecurity overbalances its allurements. 

The first transportation on land was by means of wagons. 
The great roads which were used were built b}^ the Romans 
for transporting their armies to and from their numerous 
colonies. About such movements to and fro Julius Ceasar 
has written so extensively that he has won for himself ex- 
tremely well-defined opinions from all school-girls who do 
battle with him in Gaul. These rude conveyances have 
been gradually improved until we have our easy-going, 
horseless carriages which are creating such a sensation in 
the later years of our nineteenth century. The greatest 
improvement in rapid transportation for commercial pur- 
poses was the invention in the mining districts of England 
of the locomotive. How queer those little slow steam-en- 
gines must look now beside our great locomotives which 
run at the rate of 70 miles an hour, demanding respect and 
admiration from every living creature. These mighty mov- 


ing monsters, loaded down with their burden of human 
souls, the beautiful, the good, the unsightly, the evil. Who 
does not stop to look and wonder? The old farmer, in his 
field ploughing, stands still and watches ; the cattle even 
stop browsing and lift their soft sad eyes in fascination. 
What is it that holds us spell-bound? Though we see it 
every day we stop, look, and return to our occupation, bear- 
ing with us the influence of this fascination. Rushing to 
important and insignificant places, and yet reaching the 
remotest villages, these great steam-cars have proved an 
unparalleled blessing to man ; they have carried work, edu- 
cation and wealth to millions, and yet sometime in the near 
future they will go, and electricity, that latest darling of our 
age, will take the place. 

The electric-cars which now wind about our great cities 
are perhaps the most characteristic development of our 
present stage of civilization. Strange as it may seem, while 
men have invented steam-boat, steam-car and electric-en- 
gines, they have really only stumbled upon these while 
looking for that which has never yet become a practicality. 
Ever since the day when Icarus fell to earth with his wings 
scorched and useless, man has longed for the power of lo- 
comotion, which has ever been just beyond his grasp. We 
walk, run, drive, cross oceans, traverse continents, but alas ! 
we cannot fly. Still the flying-machines fall to the earth 
or sway rudderless and meaningless in space. The attempts 
to form this ideal machine were made by the French round 
about Paris, but it still remains uncertain what may be the 
most promising direction of improvement in the rapid and 
practical navigation of the atmosphere. No air-ship, as 
yet, can be called a success ; such a thing seems possible, 
though. It has been found that to get the desired effect 
we must have light weights, great power concentrated 
within the smallest possible compass, and the least possible 
weight per horse-power. Perhaps many of us have been 


interested and amazed by the discovery which Mr. Tripler 
has given to the world, being the practical demonstration 
that air can be liquified. If this fact can be practically ap- 
plied in the construction of air-ships it will doubtless prove 
the solution of one of the greatest difficulties of aerial navi- 
gation, and in the near future it may be possible to visit 
our cousins of England or confreres of France, or our very 
dear friends of the Philippines via the American Air Line 
Vestibule Limited. And at a further date, why may it not 
be possible to compare social systems, educational theories, 
doctrinal disputes, and indeed such vital points as the beef 
question in a nation's military policy with our friends across 

the way in Mars and Venus? 

Alice D. Smallbones. 



The Greeks, in one of their most exquisite legends, tell 
us how the sun-god Apollo, while hunting one day in 
the forest, beheld Daphne among the scented wild flowers. 
Attracted by her beauty, he approached to obtain a better 
view; but she, frightened at the warrior, fled in terror to 
the mists, and besought the protection of the river-god. 
By him she was transformed into a graceful laurel-tree, 
and felt the rough bark growing around her sides, while 
her trembling hands were filled with bright green leaves. 
Thus it is that the dawn ever precedes the sun, and ever 
escapes the light of his searching rays. 

Although the same causes are at work at the appearance 
of dawn as at evening twilight, the two are vastly different 
in character and entirely opposite in effect. The clouds, 
gay attendants of the downward dropping day-star, unfurl 
for a moment their brilliant banner of hope, and then de- 
part. The day is done, and, with all its opportunities, is 
gone forever; the colors are those of sadness, they are quiet, 
grey, and restful. Except for the cheery note of the cricket 
and the soft twitter of the sleepy birds, nature relapses into 
silence, whose voice speaks a benediction of peace and calm 
to the weary world. Dawn, on the contrary, is like a bird 
which "springs from sleep with plumage bathed in dew." 
"The lark at heaven's gate sings," and calls us to witness 
the fresh hope and beauty of all nature. Many are the 
possibilities of the new-born day: life, joy, and hope are 
before us in their fullness. 

Twilight must, indeed, have played an important part in 
the history of the world. Austere Csesar, after all, possessed 
a kindly heart with which the evening's glow might har- 
monize. Charlemagne, though a mighty statesman, was 
both gentle and good, and must have loved the quiet, 
thoughtful time between the lights. Under its subtle in- 


fluence Napoleon, perhaps, planned the destinies of France. 
In his march across the Pyrenees we may fancy him seated 
in the door of his tent tracing out maps and answering the 
notes of his messengers. Now and then he leans against 
the tent, for he is weary with the day's travel, and uncon- 
sciously looks away across the gorges and ravines to the 
cloud-tipped peaks beyond ; they mingle in changing shapes 
and shades of crimson, gold and purple. Their radiant 
softness enters into his soul, brightens the anxious cloud 
which hovers there, and dispersing the darker thoughts, 
makes place for the high and pure. 

In the annals of the church it will be remembered how 
defiant Luther offered up his vesper song, and how Latimer 
and Ridley, galled by prison irons, prayed at the sunset 
bells for the persecutors of their martyr-flesh. 

Twilight as a source of solace, and even pleasure, comes 
into the lives of those we meet in every path of life. In 
the days of the amorous youth it is all-important. Under 
the protection of its gathering shadows he grows bolder, 
and finds his words more readily, as he talks with the ob- 
ject of his affection. In the setting of the sun he sees a 
likeness to his faded hopes ; he compares the clouds to the 
blackness of his frequent despair, but smiles as he notices 
that even the darkest gain a tinge of color from the set- 
ting sun. 

This same gorgeous coloring of the western sky, con- 
trasted with the characteristic greyness of evening which 
follows, has throughout all ages been an inspiration to 
" musician, painter and poet. The French school of Barbizon 
painters has a worthy representative in John Corot. His 
principle work is an illustration of a scene from Dante's 
"Inferno." It represents the meeting of Dante and his 
guide, Virgil, in the shadowy gloom of the forest trees. 
Through the foliage the delicate tints of the sunset sky can 
be seen, and the rapidly descending greyness seems to have 


already enveloped the figures. In Millet's "The Angelus" 
two peasants are pictured standing in an attitude of prayer 
at the sound of the vesper bell ; they are on their home- 
ward way with lunch-baskets and tools. The sun has set 
and darkness has begun to fall, 

" The holy time is quiet as a nun 
Breathless with adoration." 

The artists of Scandinavia and Switzerland have also 
made a study of evening colors. A picture by Srenson, 
called " Twilight," is remarkable for its delicacy. A road 
winds among the trees and disappears in the distance be- 
hind the wooded hills; its indefiniteness and stillness pro- 
duce the effect of twilight's shadows. 

Twilight has been a favorite theme of musicians ever 
since the ancient Shepherd of Argos piped his evening 
songs. Of the great composers of to-day, Paderewski gives 
us in the delicious sounds of " Au Soir" the brilliant color- 
ing of the sunset, mingled with the voice of evening bells. 
Schumann's dreamy nature has produced the "Abendmusik," 
or aftermath of sunset, whose gentle whisperings and 
minor murmurings give the peaceful state of mind which 
twilight brings, and we can feel the sweet sadness which 
comes with the deepening shadows. His " Night Pieces," 
too, are on this subject, and can only be rivaled by Chopin's 
"Nocturnes." In "Tanhauser" Wagner's "Song to the 
Evening Star" thrills us with its piercing tenderness, and 
as we soar with its ascending notes the curtains of the 
realms of etherealism are drawn aside for one brief moment. 

In the literature of all times rhymers have made numer- 
ous attemps to express their petty emotions of the beauty 
of twilight ; literary songsters have not yet ceased to warble 
its praise in their unpremeditated fashion, and poets have 
exerted their souls' strength to do justice to the subject. 
Shakespeare has used this mystical greyness to great ad- 
vantage in several dramatic scenes. At evening the there 


well-known witches appeared, chanting their magic runes, 
and prophesying Macbeth 's rise. In the dusky morning 
Brutus and his followers conspire against the life of Csesar : 

"Let us kill him boldly, not wrathfully; 
Peace ! count the clock, 
The clock hath stricken three." 

Then, as the morning's rays make their deeds seem 
blacker, they slip away to their homes like the inky shadows 
which flee before the sun. 

Milton mentions evening many times, and when he said, 
" Now came still evening on and twilight grey had in her 
sober livery all things clad," he did not neglect to mention 
the accompanying fact that the sunset sky " glowed with 
living sapphires." 

Sir Thomas Grey has rendered his name famous by a 
single elegy, that elegy which the hero Wolfe so admired, 
and with which he soothed his burdened mind before the 
storming of Quebec. In a long walk through the country, 
Grey came upon a church-yard, where nature's charms 
invited him to rest, and there he composed his immortal 
poem. Simplicity, tenderness, and love of nature are the 
combined elements in the poem which touch a responsive 
chord in the hearts of men : 

"Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, 
And all the world a solemn stillness holds, 
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, 
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds." 

Shelley compares these evening colors to a "crimson 
pall," dropped "from the depths of heaven above," and in 
a lively scene he describes to us how 

"Twilight ascending slowly from the east, 
Entwined in duskier wreaths her dusky locks 
O'er the fair front and radiant eyes of day; 
Night followed, clad with stars." 


The stormy soul of Byron found restfulness in this quiet 
time, and we feel with him the peace of 

"The cooling hour, just when the rounded 
Red sun sinks down behind the azure hill, 

Which then seems as if the whole earth is bounded, 
Circling all nature, hushed, and dim, and still, 

With the far mountain-crescent half surrounded 
On one side, and the deep sea, calm and chill, 

Upon the other, and the rosy sky 

With one star sparkling through it like an eye." 

George Eliot brings into prominence the two most impor- 
tant scenes of " Mill on the Floss" by presenting them at 
twilight. The " Red Deeps" was an extensive group of fir- 
trees which covered an old stone quarry, so long in disuse 
as to be overgrown with brambles and trees. This spot 
was to Maggie Tulliver's passionate eye enchanting beauty 
itself, compared with the monotonous level of the country 
around. Here at evening she and Phillip walked hand in 
hand in child-like happiness, thought of the future, made 
its plans and sought to solve the problem of their lives. 
Here her brother, Tom Tulliver, interrupted their pleasure 
and tore them heart from heart, victims to his cruel and 
unswerving "principle," thus plunging their lives into 
sorrow and longing again. When the flood came and 
filled the hearts of the village folk with terror, it was in 
the grey dawn that Maggie rowed through the storm down 
the turbid river to save Tom ; and the golden sun was just 
driving away the shadows of night when the little boat 
which bore the sister and brother went down forever into 
the hurrying waters of the Floss. 

The exuberant spirit of the chase in early English his- 
tory is beautifully brought out in the hunting scene of 
"The Lady of the Lake." The description is familiar to 


all, and the lost huntsman, separated from his companions, 
holds our deep sympathy. His courser has fallen and he 
has wandered all day, hoping to find some trace of his com- 
rades, but in vain, and at evening he has come to Loch 
Katrine's cooling waters, and resigns himself to his lone 
condition : 

"Some mossy bank my couch must be, 
Some rustling oak my canopy." 

But before he lies down to rest he gives a final blast of 
his horn to attract his fellows, should they, by chance, be 
in that neighborhood. Instead of bringing the longed-for 
bugle note in answer, it only served to frighten from the 
shore the Lady of the Lake in her dainty shallop. With 
this as an introduction, Scott proceeds to tell the story of 
their love, so full of such delicious unexpectedness. 

So to artists, to musicians, to poets, to novelists, the twi- 
light has brought inspiration, for to them that time when 
"all the earth a solemn stillness holds" has brought the 
benediction of peace. The glowing sun, the changeful 
colors, and the lengthening shadows, and then the quiet of 
the night. 

"Twilight and evening bell, 
And after that the dark." 

Josephine A. Osborne. 

Cupid one day, when very young, 

With dangerous weapons played; 
His mother warned him that they stung 
Where'er they touched, but he essayed 
To shoot the more, all words were vain, 
A new experience he must gain! 

Experience came, both swift and strong, 

One arrow went awry, 
And in its crooked course, headlong 
Pierced through his rosy thigh. 
Courageously, he stayed the teary flood 
That rose unbidden, but the stream of blood 

He could not staunch, from out the tender wound. 

O! how he longed his mother's voice to hear 
As all about, his life-blood dyed the ground; 
At length, a fairy witli a wand drew near; 
One wave, and Cupid in his anguish wept; 
Another, and the tears all spent, he slept. 

When he awoke, he found himself alone, 

His wound was healed, and where the crimson-tide 
Had laved the ground; tear-watered, stood full grown 
A rose-tree, with red blossoms opened wide. 
Each nodded in the breeze with careless grace 
And bore within its heart fair Cupid's face. 

The head-strong Boy, now grown a wiser god, 
Looked on the blossoms that his image bore. 
Three times around the glowing bush he trod 
And to each flower a solemn vow he swore, 
That they henceforth his messengers should be 
And bear to men his gifts with constancy. 

Each year, each rose should pierce some human heart, 
But while it pained, should neither bruise nor tear, 
Its fragrance should a gracious balm impart, 
And Love's pain be its choicest pleasure there. 
Therefore, while men in Love's glad raptures glory 
They writhe with pain — it is the old, old story. 

L' Envoi. 

This is the message that we send you, Sweet, 
Cupid and I; my thoughts, his cunning art; 

The legend is as young, as I am, Sweet; 
The meaning is as old— as Cupid's heart. 

Annie R. C. Barnes. 



Op all the beings with whom we come in contact, the 
most popular and enticing are those who have no 
being, those with whom association is rather dangerous; 
those ghosts that hover about us all our lives. To every- 
one these shadowy phantoms are alluring, and one who 
tells ghost stories in a dark room can always find an audi- 
ence. It makes no difference whether the narrator be a 
tiny tot with wide eyes and bated breath, or an Edgar 
Poe, with lurid imagination and unbalanced mind, his lis- 
teners will crowd around, spell-bound by this love of the 
mysterious, by this subtle charm of the supernatural. 

Among the ignorant and uncultivated especially, ghosts 
as objective beings are prevalent and highly popular. 
Every negro finds enchantment in a haunted house, and the 
spell cast by a "real han't," which attracts while it terrifies, 
is expressive of the alluring fright which ghosts produce. 
These "han'ts," the favorites of the ignorant, are most per- 
sistent; they proclaim themselves forcibly to eye and ear. 
On a dark, gloomy night the clanking of heavy chains is 
heard, and the hollow rattle of bones gives forth an un- 
earthly noise, while pale blue lights burn, illuminating a 
figure gaunt and spectral, and heightening its fearful ghast- 
liness. These are the harmful ghosts, the alarming spec- 
tres who pursue evil-doers and punish them as they de- 
serve; repulsive and hideous in form, they arouse the 
greatest terror among the uneducated. 

But it is not only among this class of people that ghosts 
prevail. The time-honored custom of All Halloween shows 
the tendency of mankind to receive these spirits, bid them 
welcome, and become a victim to their spell. It is believed 
that on this night the ghosts of the dead come back, gather 


round the hearth, seat themselves in the empty chairs, and 
cast a shadow over all things by their presence. 

All nations have their ghosts. German or French, Ital- 
ian or Spanish, American or English, the ghosts are there ; 
a race mingling themselves with all races, limited to no na- 
tionality, but imbuing all with a suggestion of the unreal. 
And each ghost retains his distinctive nationality. The 
Spanish ghost passes stealthily by with cloak and rapier: 
the German ghost walks heavily along, his pipe in his 
mouth ; the Dutch ghost clatters across the room in his 
wooden sabots, each one preserving his racial characteristics. 

America is rather young for ghosts, but nevertheless we, 
too, have them. Our period of Salem witchcraft was most 
productive of ghosts. Witches, who traveled through the 
air on broomsticks, were believed to hold converse with su- 
pernatural beings, and to learn magic and sorcery from the 
ghosts with whom they associated. And when the misera- 
ble old witch died, by fire or drowning, the people had by 
no means seen the last of her, she left her ghost behind to 
pursue her tormentors, and harass them and their innocent 

Ghosts are limited by no space, a locked door or a barred 
window offers no obstacle to them. Indeed, if we believe 
all the stories that we hear, they have a preference for 
walking through a closed door, perhaps because it is their 
peculiar privilege. Another power which they are fond of 
exercising is the ability to vanish instantly. We look, and 
the white-sheeted thing is before us; a moment, and it is 
gone. We put out our hands to wrestle with them, and start 
back, for we find that we have grasped the unsubstantial 
air. The courageous sometimes even shoot at the thin, 
white object, and the bullet passes harmlessly through the 
ghost and loses itself in the wall beyond. 

Ghosts flourish in an atmosphere of decay, of weird lone- 
liness and absence of growth, of dreariness and unreality. 


We always think of them in connection with gloomy pas- 
sages, cold, damp rooms, and empty fire-places. The houses 
where the rotting doors creak on their rusty hinges, spiders 
crawl along the moldy walls, centipedes run riot, and the 
only sound is the scuffling of rats across the empty room — 
these houses are sure to have ghosts in plenty, enhancing 
the dreariness and desolation by their weird, unearthy 
presence, by the depressing influence of ghostly beckonings. 

" O'er all there hung a shadow and a fear, 
A sense of mystery the spirit daunted ; 
And said, as plain as whisper in the ear, 
The place is haunted." 

To be haunted by ghosts, a strong imagination is essen- 
tial; sound-minded reasoning, a scorn of superstition and 
of all unrealities, and a desire for the practical, frighten 
away the spectres, but the sun is their deadliest enemy. 
Where his rays penetrate, the ghosts, terrified, creep hur- 
riedly away. On a clear, bright day, with the blue sky 
overhead, the birds singing in the trees, and an atmosphere 
of health, growth and freshness about us, it is very improb- 
able that we will be haunted by gaunt forms and skeleton 

In childhood these phantoms are most familiar to us. 
The thrill of terror that we felt when on waking in a dark 
room, we saw glaring eyes before us and bony fingers 
stretched out to us — can we ever forget it ? Yet it was a 
delightful terror, and while we hugged the bed in utter 
consternation, we were disappointed when the ghostly 
presence vanished. How delicious it was to sit up, spell- 
bound, gazing, open-mouthed, at the spectral figure, in a 
frenzy of fear beyond expression! What a "creepy" hor- 
ror is inspired by ghosts who appear in the dead of night! 


"Sometimes they're in the corner, sometimes they're b y 

the door, 
Sometimes they're all a-standin' in the middle o' the floor ; 
Sometimes they're a-sittin' down, sometimes they're walkin' 

So softly an' so creepy-like they never make a sound ! 
Sometimes they are as black as ink, an' other times they're 

white — 
But the color ain't no difference when you see things at 


Then how readily an uneasy conscience invited punish- 
ment from a spiteful ghost! James Whitcomb Riley's 
bad little girl, who was impolite to her relations and 
laughed at every one, paid the penalty in a manner terrify- 
ing to a childish mind : 

"An' 'thist as she kicked her heels and turn't to run and 

They was two great big Black Things a-standing by her 

An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she knowed 

what she's about, 
An' the gobble-uns '11 git you 
Ef you 

Don't watch 


As we grow older ghosts, as objective realities, begin to 
disappear, but we still have them for companions in stories 
and books. There are all kinds of literary ghosts — sad 
ghosts, gloomy ghosts, merry ghosts, majestic ghosts. We 
have phantoms whose presence is stately and inspires us 
with awe, phantoms who are mournful and sombre, and 
make all things around them dull and gloomy, phantoms 
who are merry and make rather good ghost companions. 


The ghost in "Hamlet" is a familiar instance of the ma- 
jestic ghost. The imposing spectre, who stalks majesti- 
cally, and imparts secrets in an awful voice, is manifestly 
the ghost of a king, for he is a being not to be ignored or 

The gloomy ghost is found in Dickens' "Christmas 
Carol." The ghosts of Christmas past, of Christmas pres- 
ent, and of Christmas to come, held in the doleful forms and 
sorrowful appearance a lesson to be taught, a lesson which 
Scrooge learned, impelled by the controlling power of these 
gaunt spectres. 

Then there are the light-hearted ghosts — poor beings, 
they are all light-bodied. Stockton shows us the merry 
ghost in his "Spectral Mortgage," the jaunty ghost always 
represented with hat and boots and riding-whip, who car- 
ried on a flirtatious love affair under a young girl's window. 

But neither objective nor literary ghosts are the only 
kinds. There are some gentle, kindly spectres, the ghosts 
of our childish days, which haunt us all. To the imag- 
inative and emotional these memories come with vivid 
intensity, but to the most staid and sober-minded an event- 
ful experience of a great joy or sorrow comes as a real 

In maturer years the ghosts increase, for the memories 
of youth are added. At last the aged sometimes live in a 
world of ghosts, a land of memories filled with the echoes 
of past life, the shadows of by-gone days. Tennyson's 
"Grandmother" gives us a touching picture of old age 
finding solace and pleasure in the ghosts of past days : 

" They come and sit by my chair, they hover about my bed — 
I am not always certain if they be alive or dead." * * 

"And the neighbors come and laugh and gossip, and so do I; 
I find myself often laughing at things that have long 
gone by." 


And what are these phantoms that haunt and pursue us? 
Why and whence is the ghostly presence near us? Hearn's 
answer to this question is perhaps the truest, certainly the 
most delightful, that can be given. The ghost is a com- 
posite, "thrilled into semblance of being from out the sum 
of all lost sympathies." As the phantom in Dickens' 
"Christmas Carol" was the ghost, not of one Christmas, 
but of an intermingling of all past Christmases, so the 
spectral face that hovers around us is not the ghost of one 
face, but the sum of many dear remembered faces, the re- 
sult of an infinite number of beautiful recollections, "inter- 
blended by affection into one ghostly personality, infinitely 
sympathetic, phantasmally beautiful : a composite of recol- 
lections ! And the voice is the echo of no one voice, but 
the echoing of many voices, molten into a single utter- 
ance — a single impossible tone, — thin through remoteness 
of time, but inexpressibly caressing. Thou most gen- 
tle Composite ! Thou nameless and exquisite Unreality ! 
Thou Ghost of all dear vanished things * with 

thy vain appeal of eyes that looked for my coming ; and 
vague, faint pleading of voices against oblivion ; and thin, 
electric touch of buried hands !" 

How often do these ghosts of our past days haunt us ! 
The memories of the beautiful things that are gone, the 
vague regrets for those days of childhood when everything 
was gay, the earth was sunshine and flowers and laughter, 
and each day a vast field of possibilities. Their spectral 
presences hover near us, the shadows of the past, the echos 
of the days that are gone! Dear old ghosts! you do not 
terrify, you only sadden ; for the memory of a beauty and 
a glory that is dead, intensified into a more vivid person- 
ality by the lapse of years, cannot but bring regret and a 
vague feeling of restlessness. 

But of all ghosts, the most attractive are the ghosts of the 
future. For the spectres of the past are unchangeable, 


unable to be moved by our desire ; but the ghosts of the 
future are under our control, they are the representations 
of our longings. Various names have been given to them, 
but perhaps the most familiar is "Castles in Spain." 
What an extensive country this must be, for almost every 
one we know owns a castle or two within its boundaries. 
Many, indeed, have vast possessions in this dreamy land, 
and the castles are always such beautiful ones. In build- 
ing ordinary houses we are often subject to the incon- 
venience of having them not exactly to our taste, but in 
Spain the castles are always entirely suitable, the rooms 
are perfection, the gardens are visions of loveliness, and 
the flowers are marvels in size, color and perfume — an ideal 
dream castle ! As George William Curtis tells us, "There 
is wonderful music there; sometimes I awake at night and 
hear it. It is full of the sweetness of youth and love and 
a new world. I lie and listen, and I seem to arrive at the 
great gates of my estates. They swing open upon noiseless 
hinges, and the tropic of my dreams receives me. Up the 
broad steps, whose marble pavement mingled light and 
shadow print with shifting mosaic, beneath the boughs of 
lustrous oleanders and palms and trees of unimaginable 
fragrance, I pass into the vestibule, warm with summer 
odors, and into the presence-chamber beyond." 

Christiana Busbee. 



Heroines have lived in all ages, many of whom the 
world has known and admired for some thrilling ex- 
ploit or daring deed. A few have been known and loved 
for their heroic lives, but the greater number were only to 
those who knew them, heroines. Surely the life that is a 
series of continuous triumphs of the soul over the trials 
and temptations that beset it, is greater than the life that 
finds energy only once to raise itself above ordinary mor- 
tals! The life of which the least is known is often the 
noblest, for the heroine never sees the real worth of her 
work, and she is usually so modest and retiring that she 
does not care to be known beyond the circle of friends who 
can appreciate and understand her. 

Fortunately, it is not necessary for one to travel around 
the world or to search mythic annals to find a "common- 
place" heroine, nor does one need to surround her with a 
mystic glamour. In truth, she is sometimes our next door 
neighbor, who helps us as much by her struggles as by her 
pure and sweet influence. 

From the heroines of a moment one is apt to believe that 
heroines are always perfect, but this is, indeed, a mistake, 
especially of the "commonplace" heroines. Like ordinary 
mortals, they are never perfect, but they are ever reaching 
out after a higher degree of excellence, all unconscious of 
the change in themselves until the old and the new ideals 
are compared. One can walk hand-in-hand with an " every- 
day" heroine, as with an old friend, loving and clinging 
to the influence that will ever last, while a momentary hero- 
ine flashes across the zenith of the world comet-like, ever 
afterwards to be wondered at and admired by the lesser 
lights. Yet the characteristics, if we may call them so, of 


the heroine are present in all women, and the woman that 
wakes the world with one noble deed may also be a "com- 
monplace" heroine, whom circumstances have permitted 
to become the admiration of the world. 

Much of her character we may learn from her works, 
very little was known of the life of Louisa Alcott until her 
letters and journals were published a few years ago. In her 
are embodied all the characteristics of the " commonplace " 
heroine, for all her life she endeavored to live up to her 
standard of right, as she knew it from the teachings of her 
carefully nurtured conscience. 

As a child, little Lu was remarkably interesting and 
intelligent, and her faults, though great in her eyes, were 
not those to be severely reprimanded in one so young as 
she. Yet she must not be classed with the model girls of 
the "goody-goody" books, forLouy did soil her pinafore on 
one memorable occasion, at least, and her trials and strug- 
gles with her impetuous temper link her, very closely, to 
some of us who labor under the same misfortune. While 
she was young her mother could help her through her 
moods, but as she grew older she learned to depend more 
upon herself. The deep religious feeling of her home 
helped her in her daily life, and its atmosphere has per- 
vaded all her works. The same self-sacrificing spirit which 
characterized her girlhood remained with her throughout 
her life. As Miss Alcott says, many years later, with a 
touch of sadness: "I never seem to have many presents, 
as some do, though I give a good many. That is best, per- 
haps, and makes a gift very precious when it does come." 
Old clothes were worn, old hats retrimmed with the same 
loving and devoted spirit with which she put aside the in- 
tense longing to write according to her own aspirations, and 
yielded to the wishes of the public, so that she might earn 
the money to keep her loved ones from want, drudgery and 


care. "I shall never live my own life," she prophesies, 
with pathetic earnestness. 

As is the case with all great natures, modesty was united 
with boldness of determination, earnestness of purpose with 
untiring energy. In the beginning of her literary career 
she was anything but famous, and she offered her stories to 
publisher after publisher. When " Hospital Sketches " 
was published she suddenly found herself one of the liter- 
ary celebreties of the hour. She could no longer sit in the 
corner at Dr. Parker's, an eager listener to the conversation 
which was so delightful to her. The little Lou who left 
her friend happy, with his kind greeting and earnest "God 
bless you," was now called upon to bless other girls. This 
was a pleasant privilege, and she was glad to avail herself 
of it, not onl} 7 through her books, but by the welcome she 
gave to all who visited her from love, and not from idle 
curiosity. Her escape from the " autograph fiends," re- 
porters and other curious and impertinent people, through 
windows and down back steps are often ludicrous, and re- 
mind one of Jo's scrapes in "Little Women." 

It is useless to criticise Miss Alcott's works at this late 
day. Every one has read them ; every one knows them. 
" Little Women," "Little Men" and "Jo's Boys" will never 
grow old. "Rose in^Bloom" will never fade; the "Old- 
fashioned Girl" is always breezy and modest, and we con- 
tinue to sympathize with "Jack and Jill" in their tumble 
down the hill. 

The greatest pleasure that Miss Alcott received from her 
work was that it enabled her to relieve those she loved 
from the hard poverty which they had endured for many 
years. It was she who, when Mr. Pratt died, gave her sis- 
ter a home and the children an education ; it was she who 
sent the " Little Raphael " abroad after she had given her 
the best instruction in America ; it was she who supplied 
her sick father, worn-out with trouble, with every comfort. 


Miss Alcott's early training was a great help to her in her 
literary work. While yet a child she wrote short poems 
and stories, and was taught to express her thoughts clearly 
in her journal. Though loving ones of the family praised 
them, she was never satisfied with these early attempts, and 
always yearned to write better. These journals give us an 
excellent idea of herself, her family and the home-life. In 
the stories she wrote for money when a girl, she falls into 
sentimental and melodramatic faults, of exaggerated and 
unreal descriptions. In her books for children, her own no- 
ble nature shines through all her characters, and the les- 
son she would teach is not preached, but shown by the 
sweetness of her characters and their commonplace virtues 
of unselfishness, industry, kindness and truth. It is not 
necessary for Miss Alcott to weave her boys and girls into 
fairy tales in company with giants having morals written 
on their foreheads, and with fairies with the lesser virtues 
gayly emblazoned upon their wings. The purity of feeling, 
the sturdy common sense, and the family love so promi- 
nent in her own life and home, are the chief merits of her 
works. "Moods" and " A Modern Mephistopheles " show 
that she is a close observer of human nature and a success- 
ful dealer with the more difficult and serious questions 
of life. 

Miss Alcott's style in the books for children is a peculiar 
one all of her own, and from its naturalness it is particu- 
larly pleasing and attractive to young people. As much 
as she loved literature, it was not an end, but a means by 
which she might gratify her generous impulses and give 
comfort to those around her. She never cared for the fame 
her books brought her, for it was most embarrassing to 
have gushing young school-girls throw themselves ex- 
citedly into her arms and, weeping, beg: "0, darling, love 
me." As Miss Alcott had no love to give such silly creatures, 
their hearts were doubtless broken. The greatest joy of 


her popularity was that it enabled her to see more of the 
world and to meet people of her own nature. Man}' faults 
of style must be excused, as she never had time to correct 
her work, for before one book was finished another was 
thought out, and while that was being written others were 
" simmering." 

Although her own tastes were simple, the expenses of the 
family were heavy, and she kept "grinding away at the 
mill to supply the claims that pressed upon her from all 
sides." Those who know Mr. and Mrs. Alcott can accu- 
rately judge of Louisa's character, for with her mother's 
sweet and unselfish disposition, her calm resignation and 
patience and hopefulness under misfortune were united the 
idealism and energy of her father. The idealism of Miss 
Alcott was softened by a quick comprehension of what and 
when and how a thing could be done. She could never 
thoroughly understand her father, but she reverenced, hon- 
ored and loved him, though she did call him "dear old 
Plato." She often planned to write a book, "The Cost of 
An Idea," but she felt unworthy to attempt to portray her 
father's character. At a luncheon given in honor of some 
of her father's philosopher friends she gave her definition 
of a philosopher : " A man up in a balloon, with his family 
and friends holding the ropes which confine him to earth, 
and trying to haul him down." 

Yet, with all her work, she found time to interest herself 
in the duty of women to vote for school superintendents, 
and was the first woman in Concord to exercise her right. 
Yet even Miss Alcott found it hard to tear the women 
away from their cakes and servants long enough to vote. 

She was never too busy for charitable acts, nor too weary 
to sympathize with the suffering. When she left home for 
the hard work in the hospital she never faltered, but 
laughed gayly, as if her heart were not weighed down with 
sorrow. She said that she felt as if she were the son of the 


house going forth to war. This was truer than she knew, 
for all her life she fought as many hard battles as any of 
the boys she nursed so tenderly. 

Miss Alcott's poems are to be placed high among sacred 
poems and poems of feeling, and she unconsciously shows 
much of her own life and that of her family in tender and 
beautiful words. " Thoreau's Flute " and " Little Women," 
"Transfiguration," "My Prayer" and "To My Father" 
are some of her best poems, and the hope and sorrow in 
them express her mingled feelings. "Our Angel in the 
House " is a fitting tribute to the loved sister who was 
slowly passing into the silent Beyond. "The Lay of a Gol- 
den Goose" is not only a specimen of the sprightly poetry 
she wrote to her friends, but gives us an idea of her literary 
career and how the ugly little duckling of the transcen- 
dental nest was at last owned as first cousin to the swan. 

A noble woman, a stimulating example ; a life which at- 
tained to something of what the world calls success ; a life 
full in its every-day details of noble purpose, patient labor 
and robust happiness. 

Lily E. Dodd. 



As we turn the pages of history Ave find that every 
country has at some time been ruled by a tyrant. 
Greece had her Pisistratus, Rome her Nero, France her 
Louis XIV., Germany her Henry IV., and England her 
John. But there is a tyrant who is more despotic than 
any of these; they tyranized over their own country only; 
they lived their short lives and passed away, and their 
power passed with them, but the tyrant who rules the 
world, who has always ruled and always will rule, is 
"Fashion." Who is she? No one can say. Where is her 
abode? No one can tell. She is everywhere at the same 
time, and like a chameleon which changes its color accord- 
ing to the objects about it, she is never twice alike. 

In olden days the brave knight, clad in armor of steel and 
bearing the banner of the cross, encouraged by the tender 
words of his lady-love, rushed to conflict where the legions 
of Christian kings and princes were arrayed against the 
infidels. Nowadays we have no knight in armor clad, 
instead we have the city dude arrayed in immaculate tailor 
suit and snowy linen, or clad in bicycle costume with golf 
stockings, gay yellow shoes, knee-breeches, and wide- 
brimmed cap. 

In the days of long ago the beau wore a gayly-colored 
coat and loose trousers, hat well trimmed with feathers, a 
large ruff about his neck, shoes adorned with the prettiest 
roses and stockings of various colors. 

And "Ye Ladyee" gloried in a great hoop-skirt, large 
sleeves and powdered hair. In fancy we can see her now 
courtesying low in the dignity of the stately minuet and 
slowly waving her large feathered fan which partly con- 
ceals, partly reveals, the bewitching glances of her adorable 
eyes. Our modern girl dances in a hurry, she has no time 


for stately bows or powdered hair. Imagine a nineteenth- 
century maiden content to have her hair piled on cushions, 
greased and powdered, and then imagine her sitting quite 
still for fear of hurting the structure from early morning 
until the evening party. All this forsooth because so 
elaborate was the coiffure that the hired hair-dresser could 
never have gone the rounds of his patrons in time if he 
had not begun early in the morning. In these old days, 
too, the hair was sometimes piled up in the shape of a 
steeple, narrow at the top and wider below, but now we 
have loose, soft waves, straight locks over the ears, or the 
moderate pompadour. Fortunately these puffs are becom- 
ing to almost everybody, as they can be broad at the side 
or high on top, to suit either the oval or square face. 

In the days of Queen Anne a woman's glory was her 
fan ; now it is her hat. We have sailor hats, violet hats, 
rose hats, feathered hats, upturned hats, downtilted hats, 
and so on ad infinitum. Happily the excessively downtilted 
hat is rapidly disappearing, for in some cases its results 
were startling, as for instance, when a downturned brim 
almost met an upturned nose. As it is the comfort of a 
woman to be well dressed, so it would be her delight to 
have a hat for every occasion. Many years ago hats and 
bonnets were used as protection, but I doubt if the manu- 
facturer or wearer ever thinks of that now. And what 
about the fashions of the women of other countries? Sup- 
pose a number of foreigners should come to America; for 
instance, from Italy, Greece or Spain. The Roman woman 
with a veil over the back of her head, nets to hold the hair, 
painted eyelashes and brows, and very often painted veins 
on the temples, and sandals in preference to shoes, made of 
light, white wood — and such a noise as they do make in 
walking! Then the Greek woman in her chiton, a piece 
of material sewed together in the form of a sack, open at 
the top and bottom, reaching from the head to the feet, as 


wide as the extended hands, and tied under the breast to 
prevent its falling. Then there is the Spanish woman, 
sparkling with jewels, beads and laces which cover nearly 
always a black dress. These different costumes seem very 
peculiar to us, but would ours not seem just as strange to 

Every year brings new fashions, now it is short skirts, 
now long, now tight, now plaited, now plain, and as it is 
with skirts so it is with everything else. Many women 
are still foolish enough to follow the fashion whether it be 
becoming or not. If pointed toes are in style one must 
squeeze her E foot into an A shoe. To quote Ben Johnson: 
" There is nothing new under the sun." First it is velvets, 
then laces, then silks, then lawns, then organdies, then 
velvets again, and so on. AVe need not be surprised if in 
the near future, tired of these, some genius of a woman 
should start the style of making or wearing dresses of paper, 
and the rest of her kind will follow suit. 

But all of our girls are not so silly. This is the age when 
health and exercise have become the fashion. Our modern 
girl no longer cares to feel uncomfortable, her health is no 
longer ruined by sleeping all morning and yawning all after- 
noon, but is improved by outdoor enjoyments, tennis, golf, 
cycling, and the like. If she spends the summer in the 
mountains, does she ever suffer from a fall caused by a very 
long skirt that has tangled about her feet? No; the costumes 
of the day correspond with the sports. Take her on the ten- 
nis grounds, her skirt is always wide enough to give her a 
quick and free movement, not too long nor too short, and 
not close-fitting like the cycling skirts. How comfortable 
and graceful a girl looks on the Basket Ball grounds. Tired 
of the dull, trying colors of long ago, our girl rather likes 
bright, joyous colors; red caps, pretty ties and gay trim- 
mings on her blue or white yachting suit. Many years ago 
people listened with interest to the tale of the girl who was 


delicate and who suffered from palpitation of her heart. 
Girls are no longer anxious for palpitating hearts. We 
have lost the stateliness and perhaps some of the dignity 
of the olden times, but we have on the other hand gained 
in many ways ; instead of delicate girls, too ailing to be of 
use to any one, we have rosy-cheeked, strong, capable- 
looking maidens. 

Fashions are many and follies are many, but the world 
steadily advances, and from present appearances we may 
hope that at no distant day fashion will no longer rule the 
world, but that a sensible world will rule fashion. 

Annie M. Dughi. 



wo little kittens, one sunny day, 
Went out in the street to romp and play. 
What fun it was ! To get on the track, 
To run across and then come back ! 
Their mother called, " Leave the street, 
The car will mash your little feet!" 
Alas! they staid upon the rail, 
And now one goes without a tail. 

Annie Pescud. 



How vast, how limitless is the great realm of the un- 
known! Men spend their lives trying to fathom it, 
but for everything that they learn, they find ever more and 
more to be learned. 

The Pyramids, those lonely sentinels of the desert, are 
lasting witnesses of the love that the ancients had for the 
unknown. Constructed primarily for the observation of 
the heavens, they tell us that the unknown worlds floating 
in the ether so far above us were as attractive then as now. 
Egyptians, Chaldeans, Persians, Greeks, one after another 
looked up to the burning sun by day and the starry heavens 
by night, and longed and toiled to solve the mysteries of 
the universe. Century after century astronomers pro- 
pounded their theories, the labor of their lives, and gave 
answers to the great riddle, only to be proved wholly wrong 
by a new generation. Through all ages men have tried to 
find out more about these worlds. Constantly urged on by 
the unresting desire for knowledge, they have discovered 
much, and by patient investigation and the happy inven- 
tion of the telescope, planets and far-off stars have been 
brought near us. 

The Pyramids, however, are interesting, not only as an- 
cient observatories, but also in themselves. How were the 
huge rocks of which they are constructed conveyed from 
their beds to the place of building? What is within, be- 
yond the rooms to which we have access? To all these 
questions there is no answer, yet every /day men try to find 
out more about them, and for all that they discover there 
is more that is still unexplained. 

Alexander, mighty monarch of Macedonia, Greece and 
large parts of Asia, wept because he could find no more 
worlds to conquer; but each succeeding generation proved 


how wrong he was, and discovered more and more coun- 
tries to be conquered and civilized. At last Columbus, 
lured by the insistent voice from unknown lands, braved 
sneers and incredulity, deferred promises of kings, and 
insult and rebellion from his own sailors, until at last he 

" Pushed his prows into the setting sun, 
And made West East, and sail'd the Dragon's mouth, 
And came upon the Mountain of the World, 
And saw the rivers roll from Paradise!"' 

Following Columbus came people of every nation seek- 
ing both knowledge and new possessions, and now the land 
that was once a wild waste is covered with towns and 
mighty cities, and America holds a place with the greatest 
nations of the world. 

We find this same spirit of adventure and discovery in 
the age of Elizabeth in England. Commerce and manu- 
facture gained new impulse from contact with other lands, 
and travel, in Italy especially, exerted a strong influence 
over literature. A continental tour became a part of every 
gentleman's education ; as Shakespeare tells us, " Home- 
keeping youths have ever homely wits," and this newly- 
awakened desire to see and learn of other countries helped 
to awaken men from their long intellectual slumber. 
Man's imagination ran riot over the new lands about which 
so little could be really known. Fountains of liquid gold 
sprang from the bosom of the earth ; somewhere, hidden 
as yet from mortal ken, was the fountain of perpetual 
youth ; delicate creatures like Ariel peopled the tropical 
forests; monsters like Caliban dwelt in the gloomy caves. 
Ponce de Leon, searching for the elixir of youth, discovered 
instead Florida, the land of flowers ; Sir Francis Drake, 
seeking gold and jewels, circumnavigated the globe ; Sir 
Humphrey Gilbert, the noblest hero of them all, gave his 
life for knowledge. 


Since the earliest dawn of time the polar regions have 
lain quiet and undisturbed. Wrapped in their eternal 
snows, they slumbered for ages, and their mysterious sleep 
has seemed almost an insult to man's powers of untangling 
puzzles. Explorer after explorer started on the perilous 
undertaking, only to find defeat and death. Men knew 
that in the north they found cold, and in the south heat; 
but beyond the boundaries of the known, in that myste- 
rious and strangely alluring unknown, might be both con- 
suming heat and deadly cold. The increasing desire to 
explore this unknown has accomplished much, but there 
are still vast tracts which have not been traversed. Many 
lives have been lost in this perilous undertaking, but so 
great has been the attraction of the unknown that these 
men did not hesitate, but pushed resolutely on, giving up 
home, money, and friends, that in return they might learn 
more of this mysterious region. Nowhere has knowledge 
been purchased with greater difficulty and danger, and 
nowhere have we records of greater heroism than that dis- 
played by the sailors in these icy regions. That which so 
long ago impelled the old Vikings to sail away and explore 
distant lands was not merely a love of adventure, though 
that of course was necessary, but it was a really earnest 
desire for knowledge, a desire to know what was beyond 
the limits of their own country, and what was to be found 
in the distant lands so long considered the home of their 
gods. Harald Hardrada, "the experienced King of the 
North," was the first explorer who was animated by a pure 
love of knowledge. 

"To the northward stretched the desert, 
How far I fain would know, 
So at last I sallied forth, 
And three days sailed due north 
As far as the whale-ships go." 


No one knows how far he went, but he reached what he 
thought was the verge of the earth, for he said: "I only 
turned my ships around in time to escape being swallowed 
up in the vast abyss." And what a literature of adventure, 
what a heritage of noble purpose these hardy Vikings have 
left us! 

The American Indians have a great awe for anything 
which they do not understand. If a man comes among 
them who is skilled in arts of which they know nothing, 
especially in the use of chemicals, he is immediately recog- 
nized as a great "Medicine-man," and is highly reverenced. 
Thunder, to them, is the voice of the Great Spirit, and the 
winds are also gods. But they have not that active, search- 
ing intellect of the white race which is always seeking and 
finding out new things : they are content to let the unknown 
remain unknown, and it is left for others to discover new 
lands and new planets. 

The desire for knowledge is the lever which moves the 
world. Benjamin Franklin, attracted by the unknown, 
discovered that lightning and electricity are identical. 
Watts, watching the tea-kettle, found that it was steam 
which made the lid rise and fall, and therefore invented 
the steam-engine. Whitney, experimenting with the rude 
implements of the hand-pickers, invented the cotton-gin. 
Edison, by continued investigation, has given to the world 
as the fruits of his labors, the electrical wonders of our 

If the unknown of the world about us is so attractive, 
what shall we say of the m} r sterious attractions of the 
unknown world beyond this life? The wars of the Trojans 
and Greeks, the wanderings of Ulysses or of iEneas are to 
us interesting, but it is when we find allusions to the world 
beyond that we are held spell-bound. This other world 
has been a favorite theme with painters and poets. Virgil's 
hero, iEneas, explored that strange and mystic place, Hades, 


and there saw the souls of all that had been, or were to be ; 
and in fancy we can follow him through his wanderings 
and listen to his eager conversation with the shadowy 
ghosts. Dante, attracted by this unknown life, traversed 
in imagination, guided by Virgil, Hell, Purgatory and 
Paradise. He was a mystical poet, and this mysticism is 
plainly shown in his description of the next world ; even 
the form of his poem and of his verse is symbolical. His 
idea of the future world is more modern than Virgil's. 
He describes Paradise to us as "a mystic rose, whose petals, 
row upon row, are the seats of the blessed, and whose 
yellow centre is the flame of the love of God." 

We can see his longing to learn by the questions which 
he pours out to the suffering wretches around him. To 
him hell was not bounded, but spreads vast and desolate. 
One of the suffering souls says: 

"Hell has no limits, nor is circumscribed 
In one self-place; for where we are is hell, 
And where hell is, there must w T e ever be." 

Our own poet, Milton, has also written of the life here- 
after. His subject is the grandest that he could find, and 
he treats it in a way worthy of its grandeur. New beau- 
ties open to us every time we read this poem, and we are 
more and more fascinated by the glimpses that we get of 
the unknown. As long as the world endures, there will 
be new things to learn ; new depths to be explored, and so 
the luring voice of the unknown will ever draw men on to 
higher knowledge, to greater attainments. 

Nina W. Green. 



Although the sternly virtuous may be tempted to deny 
it, most of us will agree that flattery is one of the most 
interesting of subjects to mankind. It seems not only in- 
teresting, but universal, for there is not one of us who does 
not use it (consciously or unconsciously) in some one of its 
many forms. 

Of course some flattery is so pointed that a person be- 
comes disgusted with it, refinement cannot endure what is 
fulsome; but any one of us is charmed to receive a delicate, 
nicely-turned compliment. 

Now, since all this has been said about flattery, we may 
ask, "What is flattery?" Webster tells us that it is " To 
please or gratify, or seek to please or gratify by praise, and 
especially undue praise." 

That flattery is always for a purpose every one will ad- 
mit. We find this to be true as far back as the time of 
Samson, whom Delilah fondled and cajoled with soft words 
that she might win from him the secret of his mighty 
strength, and so betray him to the Philistines. 

Men and women flatter for love, for greed of gold, for 
position, but not often do we find a more regular trade in 
flattery than that carried on by the old-time Parasites. 
These men flattered for their dinners, and really lived by 
their oily tongues. There are many lineal descendants of 
the Parasites, and the flatterers of royalty may rightly be 
ranked among the chief. Since their motives are so evi- 
dent, it is strange that there are few who fail to accomplish 
their end. But flattery seems in all ages to have been 
very attractive to sovereigns, perhaps because from their 
lonely position they despaired of winning sincere affection, 
and so were glad of even its poorest substitute. Nothing 
pleased Edward II. more than to have Gaveston, his most 


famed flatterer, pour into his ears sweet nothings or gently 

"The shepherd night with biting winter's rage 
Frolics not more to see the painted spring 
Than I do to behold your majesty." 


" Renowned Edward, how thy name revives poor Gaveston." 

Even Henry VIII., quick-witted as he was, could be won 
by smooth speech. Through indirect flattery Cromwell 
was raised to be his minister, and by her wit and pretty 
compliments Catherine Parr succeeded in keeping her own 
weary head. 

Queen Elizabeth could scarcely have lived without her 
flatterers. She liked for her favorites to tell her as Hatton 
did, "To see her was heaven" and "the lack of her was 
hell." She fully believed what her teacher, Roger Archam, 
wrote to one of his friends: "Numberless honorable ladies 
of the present time surpass the daughter of Sir Thomas 
Moore in every kind of learning, but amongst them all, my 
illustrous mistress, the Lady Elizabeth, shines like a star, 
excelling them more by the splendour of her virtues than 
by the glory of her royal birth." Even when one of the 
ambassadors said, while trying to persuade her to marry, 
"That all the world stood amazed at the wrong she did 
to the grand endowments that God had given her of beauty, 
wisdom, virtue and exalted station, by refusing to leave fair 
posterity to succeed her," England's statesmanlike queen 
was childishly delighted at the fulsome and wholly unwar- 
ranted praise of her personal appearance. But, although 
we may not admire Elizabeth, there are few women who, 
while trying to cross a muddy place, would not like to 


meet a second Sir Walter Raleigh, or who would not re- 
ward him, if they had power, just as Elizabeth did. 

Next to court favorites, the greatest flatterer in the world 
is the office-seeker. In monarchies, in republics, in despot- 
isms still we find him, no form of government has yet rid 
us of him. John Kendrick Bangs gives us a fine type of 
this specimen. 

When a man wishes a certain office, he begins to work for 
himself several years beforehand. He knows that many 
of the voters are jealous of the prominence of the candi- 
date, and to offset this jealous feeling, "when he meets an 
inconspicuous voter on the street, slaps him on the back and 
shakes him by the shoulders, or pokes him in the ribs, 
cracks a joke with him, and ends up by asking him to 
have a cigar or take a drink." But he has to be very care- 
ful even when he is familiar with such men as these, for 
once a candidate was known to lose a vote by not being- 
particular enough. "He hit a cab-driver on the back at a 
mass-meeting, intending it, of course, as an act of sociability, 
but the cab-driver had been drinking, and was having all 
he could do to stand up, and the slightest tap would have 
upset him." " Failing to note his condition, the candidate 
gave him a whack that sent him headlong under the pre- 
siding officer's table," and thus lost his vote. 

After a candidate has gotten as many promised votes as 
possible in town, he goes out and tries the farmers. He 
goes to a certain man's house, and of course receives a 
hearty welcome, for farmers are always glad to see their 
friends. He spends the day, and perhaps the night ; walks 
all over the farm, admires the grain, praises the tobacco, 
and tells the farmer what a beautiful home he has. When 
he returns to the house, he even flatters the farmer's wife 
by telling her that her dark soda biscuit are the best he has 
ever eaten. Then just before he leaves he asks the favor 
he has been seeking, and of course the answer is yes. 


In Europe and Asia, where the trade has been practiced 
for centuries, we find whole nations of flatterers. 

The Chinese are adepts in the art of flattery and also in 
the art of being flattered. The} 7 are so conceited that they 
think there is no country so good as theirs, and if you 
praise another nation before them they will at once begin 
to praise themselves. They think that "the Chinese are 
the model race, to whom all others must look up with 

A Chinese military officer is very particular about what 
he calls etiquette, and gladly receives salutes to which he 
is not entitled bv his rank ; and it has been said that more 
powder is consumed in a year in salutes from Chinese gun- 
boats than would be used in a campaign against an enemy. 

The Japanese are also a nation of flatterers, but they 
flatter more by action than by word. For instance, when 
two gentlemen meet in the street they bow low to each 
other and remain in that position for some time, and when 
they part they bow again and do not straighten until they 
are out of each other's sight. The friend or acquaintance 
to whom they speak is always most excellent, most noble, 
most exalted, while the speaker is a debased slave, who 
scarcely presumes to open his unworthy lips in your 
august presence; all of which, of course, is wholly for 
effect, for you know he does not think himself debased, a 
slave, or unworthy in the least. 

The Italian flower-girls make their living chiefly by 
flattery. They stand where there are many passers-by and 
say to all the ladies as they pass, "Pretty lady, buy a bunch 
of flowers to add to your beauty," and of course when an 
ugly woman hears such a pleasing sentence she cannot re- 
sist buying. 

In a village of Ireland there is a very interesting stone 
called the "blarney stone," which is thought to give to all 
who kiss it a peculiar kind of coaxing flattery. This stone 


does not go unkissed either, so it seems, for once when a 
lady was in the English court she met an Irishman whom 
she liked very much, and on one occasion, when he was 
speaking very flatteringly of some ladies of his own country, 
the lady became very much interested, and, in the midst of 
her excitement, asked if he did not think that she was in- 
tended for an Irish woman. He replied by saying: "No, 
pretty lady, but I think you were intended for an Irish 

Dedications were for several centuries one of the chief 
means of livelihood among poets and other literary men, 
and some of our greatest writers have bought the patron- 
age of the rich by praise so extravagant that it seems to us 
now humiliating to both writer and patron. 

It has been said that, " Even truth itself in a dedication 
is like an honest man in a disguise, and will appear a cheat 
by being dressed like one." 

An excellent instance of flattery by dedication was once 
found in the lining of a lady's bandbox : 

"Though it is a kind of profanation to approach your 
grace with so poor an offering, yet when I reflect how 
acceptable a sacrifice of first-fruits was to heaven, in the 
earliest and purest ages of religion, that they were honored 
with solemn feasts and consecrated to altars by a divine 
command, upon that consideration, as an argument of par- 
ticular zeal, I dedicate. It is impossible to behold you 
without adoring, yet dazzled and awed by the glory that 
surrounds you, men feel a sacred power, that refines their 
flames and renders them pure as those we ought to offer to 
the Deity. The shrine is worthy the divinity that inhabits 
it. In your grace, we see what woman was before she fell, 
how nearly allied to the purity and perfection of angels. 
And we adore and bless the glorious work !" 

Frequently we smile, or even laugh derisively, when we 
see others so pleased with idle compliments, but after all, 


none of us can afford to laugh ; we are all alike, for when 
all other flattery is ineffectual the Shakesperian plan never 
fails : 

" But when I tell him he hates flatterers 
He says he does, being then most flattered." 

Kate Cannady. 


The real art of lying is to know how and when to tell 
a lie. Few people are capable of this. The man 
who can look forward and backward and judge how and 
when to tell a lie has the power of a prophet, the reasoning 
of a Euclid, and the memory of a whist-player. No one 
should attempt it who does not possess these three requi- 
sites in connection with a massive intellect. Notably, 
many politicians owe their failure to a mentality too small 
to compass successful lying. 

Lies, like murders, are of many degrees. Touchstone 
gives us some valuable information on this point, he says : 
"I will name you the degrees: the first, the Retort Court- 
eous; the second, the Quip Modest; the third, the Reply 
Churlish ; the fourth, the Reproof Valiant ; the fifth, the 
Countercheck Quarrelsome; the sixth, the Lie with Cir- 
cumstance ; the seventh, the Lie Direct. All these you 
may avoid but the Lie Direct, and you may avoid it, too, 
with an "If." I knew when seven justices could not take 
up a quarrel, but when the parties were met themselves one 
of them thought but of an ' If,' as ' If you said so,' and they 
shook hands and swore brothers. Your 'If is the only 
peace-maker; much virtue in 'If.'" 

Many lies are born of silence, and these are among the 
meanest of all lies, because they are so impossible to refute. 


The tacit understanding, the silent agreeing with scandal. 
"Oh! I will never say anything evil of my neighbors, but 
of course I have my thoughts." This is indulged in by 
many who pride themselves upon never uttering a false- 
hood ! Then, too, how much can be conveyed by the arch- 
ing of the eyebrow, the shrug of the shoulders, the slightly 
derisive smile, or even the pointing of a finger. As Victor 
Hugo says, perhaps the fate of Napoleon hung upon a peas- 
ant's gesture. Before ordering one of the last of his fa- 
mous charges, the Emperor had surveyed the ground, but 
had been unable to see the trenches prepared by the En- 
glish. " Warned, however, by the little white chapel which 
marks its juncture with the Nevells road, he had asked the 
peasant guide a question, probably as to whether there was 
any obstacle. The guide answered no ; and thus we might 
almost say that Napoleon's catastrophe was brought about 
by a peasant's shake of the head." 

On the whole we are not inclined to agree with Touch- 
stone, that the Lie Direct is the culminating point of wick- 
edness, in its insidious treachery and meanness, the Lie In- 
direct stands ahead. 

Silence, expression and gesture are not the only kinds 
of lies; they have a wider and broader manifestation by 
words. In all professions w T e find men who have attained 
eminence in this art, but its most successful disciples are 
recruited from the ranks of statesmen, historians, travelers 
and explorers. Prominent among the liars in the class of 
statesmen is Queen Elizabeth. We may say some are born 
liars, some achieve lying, and some have lying thrust upon 
them. Elizabeth is a master-piece, for she achieved lying, 
had it thrust upon her, and, considering both her mother 
and father, probably had a certain amount of it born in 
her. The Elizabethan age was a period of crises for Eng- 
land and the English race. By her lies, white, gray or 


black, Elizabeth carried herself and her nation over many 
a difficulty. 

Those who are simply born liars are not so fortunate ; 
with them lying is often a force guided neither by prophesy, 
reasoning nor memory. Among these unfortunates are 
both that brilliant and attractive Richard of the Lion Heart 
and the tragic Charles I. One of these kings is a hero to 
every reader of the "Talisman," and the other to almost 
every lover of the lost cause. Alas ! that true accounts re- 
veal each one as a bona fide promise-breaker. Charles I., 
especially, seems to have had a moral obliquity with re- 
gard to the truth. 

If we wish to find lies of all kinds and descriptions we 
have only to glance into the works of a certain class of his- 
torians. Most historians so project their own opinions, be 
the} 7 political, religious or personal, into their writing, that 
it is difficult, if not impossible, to tell the true from the 
false. This is so evident that the author of "The Decline 
and Fall of the Roman Empire" is said to have "Gibbon- 
ized the vast tract over which he traversed." Oftentimes 
the historian is so influenced by fears of giving offence, or 
hopes of gain, that he will give to the world what he him- 
self knows is false. For instance, the first publication of 
Hume's history was favorable to Charles L, but because the 
author became irritated with the outcry against him, he 
recast his historical verdicts so as to offend the party which 
had attacked him. At that time there lived in Edinburgh 
an old Jesuit scholar, to whose criticism Hume submitted 
his manuscript. Much to the astonishment of the scholar,' 
the sins of Mary Stuart, which had been skillfully omitted 
in the manuscript, appeared in detail in the printed copy. 
Seeking the author, he asked an explanation. "Why," 
said Hume, "the printer said he would lose £500 by that 
story ; indeed, he almost refused to print it, so I was obliged 
to alter it, as you saw." We must not attribute this fault 


to Hume alone. So prevalent is the vice that it is difficult 
to know anything of the real character of historical people, 
so differently do their various historians portray them. 

Historians are addicted to falsehood as a trade, but ex- 
plorers and travelers seem to find genuine delight in a lie 
as a mere pastime, and are among our most entertaining 
liars. These lies of travelers are confined to no age or 
country. Traveling and truth do not seem to agree any 
better than fishing and truth, and from infancy we have 
all learned what a fisherman's tale is worth. We beg par- 
don of that dear old angler, Isaac Walton, but indeed, the 
followers of his beloved sport have a poor, poor record for 
veracity. Several of these traveling sinners have noble 
titles, and we might have expected better things of them, 
but when we consider that many of the most noted liars 
have been kings and queens, we cannot be too severe in our 
judgment of simple nobility, particularly when "simple 
nobility " is as interesting as are Sir John Mandeville and 
Baron Munchausen. Mandeville, from his account, knew 
more of Palestine than any other man before or since his 
day has ever known. He came into contact with people 
with hounds' heads, that " be great folk and well fighting," 
with wild geese who have two heads, with lions " all white 
and great as oxen," men with eyes on their shoulders and 
men without heads, " folk that have the face all flat, all 
plain, without nose and without mouth," and " folk that 
have great ears and long, that hang down to their knee," 
and folk that run marvelously swift with one foot so large 
that it serves them as an umbrella against the sun when 
they lie down to rest." He prefaces his most amazing as- 
sertions with "They say," or "Men say, but I have not seen 
it." His account of the freezing and thawing of several 
short speeches is a masterpiece of ingenuity. He says that 
a party of men, of whom he was the leader, having set sail 
on an adventure, a storm arose and only two vessels landed 


safely. "The crews of the boats each made a cabin at some 
distance apart, and in talking to each other he found 
that several words were lost, After much perplexity, he 
discovered that the words froze in the air before they 
reached the ears of the person to whom they were ad- 
dressed. His decision was confirmed by the fact that as 
the cold increased the whole company grew dumb, or rather 
deaf, for every man was sensible that he had spoken as well 
as ever. After three weeks, when the weather began to 
moderate and the air to thaw, the cabins were immediately 
filled with a dry chattering sound, which was found to be 
the cracking of consonants that broke above their heads, 
and this noise was often mixed with a gentle hissing, 
which was imputed to be the letter S." One particular 
sailor on board was fond of cursing and swearing, but had 
been punished by Sir John for this failing, and dared not 
indulge in oaths in his presence. However, when he found 
that he could not be heard, he took great delight in swear- 
ing at Sir John. Imagine his amazement when the air 
became full of his own speeches. 

Baron Munchausen is own brother to Mandeville ; he is 
represented now as even lying to amuse the spirits in Ha- 
des. One of the spirits was saying that he caught a man 
swallowing five cows and a horse, sulky and all. Mun- 
chausen rose and left the room. " If they're going to lie I'm 
going out," he said. As he was passing through the room 
he made the startling announcement that he once had 
an experience similar to Jonah's, and, strange to say, with 
the identical whale ! 

But this is nothing compared with the tales which he 
has given us m his "Adventures." He gives an interest- 
ing account of a trip to Russia, when he was attacked by a 
wolf. Unnoticed, he covered himself with the robes, while 
the hungry wolf devoured the horse. He says: "Thus 
unnoticed and safe myself, I lifted my head slily up, and 


with horror I beheld that the wolf had eaten his way into 
the horse's body. It was not long before he had fairly 
forced himself into it, then I took my advantage, and fell 
upon him with the butt end of my whip. Thus unexpect- 
edly attacked, the frightened beast leaped forward with all 
his might, the horse's carcass dropped to the ground, but 
in his place the wolf was in the harness, and whipping him 
continually, we both arrived in full career, safe at St. 

Every age has its own fashion, and just as the pompa- 
dour is the one absorbing fashion of the present, so lies 
were of the middle ages. The cleverest men spent their 
time in proving how many angels could dance on the point 
of a needle, and other th'ngs quite as impossible. They 
could be proved, too, for although logically false, only a 
few people could detect the fallacy. Another instance of 
a ridiculous proof is found in the following syllogism : 

"Who is most hungry eats most; who eats least is most 
hungry ; therefore, who eats least eats most." 

Besides the lies of imagination, another class told for 
pleasure are our society fibs. Though not always for a 
pleasure, they are often told to prevent collisions and mis- 
understandings, and therefore make our intercourses more 
smooth and our lives less painful. This has become an 
art, indeed, which peoples of all ages have not learned so 
well. We are adepts in being "not at home." Perhaps 
we have learned by such mistakes as this : A certain old 
Roman called to see his friend ; his friend's servant said his 
master was "not at home." A few days later the friend 
returned the call ; while standing at the door he heard the 
Roman tell his servant to say that he was "not at home." 
Then the caller exclaimed, " But he is, for I hear his voice." 
Whereupon the old Roman poked his head out of an upper 
window and said, "I believed your servant, can't you have 
the grace to believe me?" 


After all, success in this art is, at best, a "bad emi- 
nence," and the poor, commonplace people, who feel that 
they cannot reach the heights of Hume, Mandeville and 
Munchausen, can surely well afford to aim at higher at- 
tainments in a nobler cause. 

Kate B. Connor. 



nce there was a naughty chicken 
Who was prone to disobey, 
He did not like his lessons, 
All he cared about was play. 

Once he said to his dear brother, 

"Let's you and me both run away." 

And his brother was delighted, 
So off they went to spend the day. 

Down they went right by the brookside, 

Where they made a boat of sticks, 
When at last it was completed, 

They an oar began to fix. 

Off they started down the brooklet, 

Thought of course their boat was sound, 

But when they had reached the middle 

The sticks gave way aud both were drowned! 

Now, my chickens, learn a lesson 

From the sad fate of these two, 
You must always be good chickens, 

And do what you are told to do. 

Annie Root. 



From the earliest ages of the world's history the com- 
mon belief of all nations seems to have been that a 
love of books is a true mark of lofty thought and elevated 
opinions; for certain it is that, look where we may, there 
are always traces of a so-called literary tendency. 

When both writers and books were few, men eagerly 
read or listened to tedious allegories and the like with as 
much interest and enthusiasm as a certain class of literary 
devotees evinced in regard to " Trilby," some years ago. 
These early people no doubt derived much enjoyment and 
edification from their reading, but surely they were laying 
the foundation for a bookish enthusiasm which in the last 
part of our century would take the form of a fad in the 
strictest sense of the term. 

Each year multiplies the number and the range of books; 
for as civilization becomes more complex and many-sided, 
new volumes meet each new demand. Whatever may be 
a person's taste, there is always a book to meet it. There 
are books of theology for the old gentleman of seventy 
who, with his spectacles carefully adjusted, finds perfect 
contentment in a pile of theological works, from Hooker's 
Ecclesiastical Polity to the pamphlet disquisitions of the 
present day. Again, there are books, most voluminous 
ones, for doctors, and for that interesting class of women 
who narrow their ideas down to the one single consideration 
of health, and spend their daj^s and nights talking or read- 
ing of various curious aches and pains. For the lover of 
outdoor sports there is no end to the literature ; golf, ten- 
nis, basket-ball, foot-ball, rowing and wheeling have each, 
not only their clubs, but their magazines, short stories, and 
novels. Practically, a life-time would be required to read 


a complete bibliography of amusements alone. Another 
class, which it might be amiss not to mention, since they 
are almost in excess of all others put together, is the love 

Time would fail us to enumerate the varieties, style, 
merits, and demerits of this class which, in some form or 
other, meets with the warm admiration of the entire race. 
Some eccentrics may pretend to jeer, but if we inquire care- 
fully we shall find that even those who scoff read the 
scorned stories on the sly. 

In short, there are books of all kinds for all people; 
many men, many books. 

Men's desires, however, change, and the book which this 
year is discussed and read will sink into oblivion before 
next year's approach. " Robert Elsmere," for instance, was 
once the topic of the day. Where is it now ? Does any 
one ever read it? Then again, there is "Quo Vadis," which 
only a short while ago so captivated the reading world that 
two people could not engage in conversation of any kind 
without at least mentioning it — all roads led to Rome. 
During the season of its glory some one remarked that she 
supposed she was the only woman in America who had not 
read "Quo Vadis." Even that illustrious masterpiece is be- 
coming a thing of the past. The noble Petronius and the 
fair Eunice are fast fading from the popular memory. 

Such is the fate of nearly all books which, for a time, 
inspire the admiration and interest of men. Now, since 
they are doomed to be so soon forgotten, why are books 
written? Byron tells us very plainly one good reason : 

"'Tis pleasant, sure, to see one's name in print ; 
A book's a book, although there's nothing in 't." 

Besides this, there are those who write because others do ; 
the spirit seems to pervade all classes and professions of 


men. Every one writes. An amateur, who has been also 
a newspaper reporter in a small way, goes to India, and as 
a result we have so-called tales of Indian life. We go 
"About Paris" with Richard Harding Davis, and with him 
view the "West from a Car Window." We can go 
"Farthest North" with Nansen, or with Lady Brassey sail 
around the world on a "sunbeam." 

Some persons write, seemingly, just because their parents, 
wives or brothers have written; witness Edwin Lester 
Arnold, Herbert Ward, and Charles Belmont Davis. Since 
the reasons for writing books are not always good or sin- 
cere, neither are the reasons for reading them. 

There are three distinct classes of readers: those who 
read because they have nothing better to do, those who 
read because others do, and those who read because they 
love and enjoy it. Those who read because they have 
nothing better to do are well represented at summer resorts. 
The number of those who read because others do is very 
large, and they perhaps derive less enjoyment from books 
than any other people. 

The society world in general is a fitting illustration of 
this pretended love of reading. In every fashionable 
drawing-room the books of the day are greatly discussed, 
though there are perhaps not half a dozen people in the 
room who read them except in a very desultory way. Here 
and there are little groups of people seemingly interested 
in what they are saying of the merits and demerits of a 
book about which they know simply nothing, except that it 
is the latest thing out. Old men will scream through ear- 
trumpets to stately old ladies who insist upon expostulating 
on their favorite book. Fresh young girls whose knowledge 
of reading extends just beyond the limits of one or two 
French stories, will talk in a mechanical way of James 
Lane Allen and Richard Harding Davis ; hot-headed young 
fellows will declare that Stevenson is the man for them, 


that a story of adventure is far ahead of all the novels of 
Howell, James and Company. Their companions being 
tired-looking society girls, agree without much discussion, 
and Mr. Stevenson's rank as a literateur is fixed. 

The fair young debutante, having been forced by her 
fashionable mother to read, talks sweetly to her future 
mother-in-law of her fondness for books, when really the 
uppermost thought in her mind at that moment is whether 
or not her costume is as pretty as some others in the room. 
Imagine her dismay when the said prospective mother- 
in-law offers to lend her the " History of Civilization." 

One must keep up in books as well as in dress, however 
great the effort. It would be a difficult matter for a young 
society girl to decide between the mortification of being be- 
hind the fashion in dress or in books. A story is told of a 
country girl who, not having had an opportunity of reading 
the new books, went to visit her city cousins who, though 
they read with not a particle of appreciation, were up-to-date 
in what they did read. It chanced that this timid young 
country girl was thrown one day with some of the fashion- 
able city ladies, who of course were discussing the latest 
books. Seeing that what they talked of was unknown to 
her, but wishing to join in the conversation, the girl ven- 
tured to inquire of her companions if they had ever read 
Dickens' "Old Curiosity Shop." Embarrassment and amaze- 
ment reigned. 

Some wise person who seeks to fathom all things will 
assert that such mock love of reading does not display any 
tendency whatever to a reading fad. Perhaps this is true 
if one does not consider carefully what is meant by a fad. 
Does every person who is seemingly fond of bicycling, ten- 
nis, golf or the like, play from mere love of the sport? No, 
indeed, there are many who ride a wheel, play tennis or 
golf simply because it is the fashion. Watch that fagged, 


worn young woman "putting" all the long summer morn- 
ing, her face scarlet, her arms weary ; do you imagine she 
really likes golf? But however great the strain, she must 
play, she cannot afford to be the only girl at the " Springs " 
who cannot have a "good time." Truly, when we watch 
these anxious players, "golfecide" does not seem to be far 
distant. Now, these are certainly what we call fads, and 
the word is applicable to reading in the same sense. Of 
course such a statement applies chiefly to those who read 
because others do. Why, this is true of all kinds of amuse- 
ments. Take, for instance, a person who has no talent for 
music and no appreciation of it. Does such an one go to 
hear the Boston Symphony or one of Wagner's operas? 
Certainly he does, and why? Simply because he wishes to 
say he has been. Just so it is with reading. Some people 
read to say they have read, as a mischievous school-boy will 
step over his book in order to report in class that he has 
been over it. 

Though it must be confessed that some of the readers of 
to-day are prompted by such worthless motives, let it be 
said in behalf of our century that the third and last class 
of readers is the most prominent, because it is their reading 
which bears fruit. The difference between those who read 
carefully and appreciatively and those who read for fashion 
is like the dusting done by a man and that done by a wo- 
man. The man flaps about with a bunch of feathers; the 
woman goes to work softly with a cloth. She does not raise 
half the dust, nor fill her own mouth and ears with it, but 
she goes into all the corners and attends to the leaves of 
the books as well as to the covers. For the lover of books 
there is more real enjoyment in store than for all the fol- 
lowers of fashion; to them books are friends who, under 
no circumstances, are ever appealed to in vain; they can 
be relied on, whoever else or whatever else may fail ; and 


in the hour of trouble or joy true lovers of reading can 
turn to their book friends with confidence and trust. 

Thus it is that, however wild and variable men's tastes 
become, and whatever fad is prevalent, the enlightened 
minds of our enlightened nations will always cling to what 
is best in reading. "As good almost kill a man as a good 
book ; who kills a man kills a reasonable creature, God's 
image; but he who destroys a good book kills reason itself, 
kills the image of God, as it were in the eye." 

Lucie Bikdie Clifton. 


Will it ever be possible for the last word to be said 
about Shakespeare? His poetic fire, his strength 
and beauty of rythm, his rich and varied diction, his 
dramatic instinct, are as marvelous to the world to-day as 
they were a hundred years ago. But chiefly do we never 
cease to wonder at his masterly delineation of character. 
Each of his characters is of importance to him, and even 
the most seemingly insignificant is an individual, not a 
type. In this respect he differs entirely from the French 
and Spanish dramatists, with whom there was absolutely 
no individuality ; a servant was a servant, and a shepherd 
was a shepherd. If we read of one French or Spanish 
servant we know them all ; they are all the same plotting 
persons, listening at doors, tattling about their masters, and 
every now and then revealing important secrets. 

Shakespeare entered into the life of all his stage people. 
We have, for instance, a distinct understanding, even of a 
man like Adam in "As You Like It," about whom little is 
said and who speaks seldom. His devotion to his old 
master and his old master's son is most striking and most 
beautiful ; it is Adam who warns Orlando agaiust his 


treacherous brother and advises him to brave any danger 
rather than enter Oliver's house ; it is Adam who gives all 
his carefully hoarded money to help his young master on 
his journey. His meek devotion is shown when he says, 

"Master, go on, and I will follow thee 
To the last with truth and loyalty." 

And he nobly kept his word, for he followed him until his 
poor, weary old feet gave way and he dropped fainting by 
the roadside. 

"As You Like It" is Shakespeare's happiest play, free for 
the most part from the turmoil of the court world and full 
of delightful humor and wholesome philosophy. The play 
could not have been laid in a more fitting scene than the 
forest of Arden. The stillness of the woods fosters thought- 
fulness, and every character, even the simplest rustic, 
catches something of the spirit of the place and finds 

"Tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, 
Sermons in stones, and good in everything." 

As Mr. Hazlitt says, "The very air seems to breath a 
philosophical poetry ; to stir the thoughts ; to touch the 
heart with pity as the drowsy forest rustles to the sighing 
gale. Never was there such beautiful moralizing, equally 
free from pedantry or petulance." We must remember 
that this play probably, to a large extent, reflects Shake- 
speare's feeling at that time ; he, too, was tired of the glitter 
and rush of London life and longed for peace, he is him- 
self in the Forest of Arden. 

The setting of the play is beautiful, the plot interesting, 
the principal characters admirable, but there is a special 
feature which still further differentiates "As You Like it"; 
in none of the other dramas do we find so many rustics, 
and in no other do they play so conspicuous a part. How 


instinct they all are with life; there are no smiling shep- 
herdesses with flowered crooks, such as we find in the 
Pastorals of the Middle Ages, those feeble imitations of the 
Roman Eclogues. 

Our interest is perceptibly heightened by the side-play 
of the country lovers, which is a kind of exquisite parody 
on the loves of Rosalind and Orlando, and Celia and Oliver. 

Silvius is a typical country lover ; bashful, awkward and 
shambling in his sweetheart's presence, subservient to her 
every whim, and constantly doing that which was likely 
to arouse her scorn rather than increase her love. He is a 
love-sick swain, and would sit for hours on the turf 

"Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess 
That was his mistress." 

Corin told Rosalind to watch Silvius and Phebe together, 

"If you will see a pageant truly play'd, 
Between the pale complexion of true love 
And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain." 

Phebe, while she really loved Silvius, knew that his love 
for her made him her abject slave, and that she could 
wind him round her finger at will ; consequently she flouted 
and scorned him in Ganymede's presence, sure that a kind 
word in private would more than compensate for the scoffing 
in public. True to her sex, she was momentarily attracted 
by Ganymede's handsome face and court manners, and 
preferred his domineering to the meek devotion of Silvius. 
She says to Ganymede, 

"Sweet youth, I pray you, chide a year together; 
I had rather hear you chide than this man woo." 

If that poor Silvius had had sufficient intuition to have 
followed Ganymede's example, his love-suit might have 


progressed more rapidly, but although he perceived the 
difference in Phebe's manner toward himself and Gany- 
mede, his great devotion and his fear that he might thereby 
lose her love kept him from a single self-assertive word or 
action. He could not use even pretended scorn toward the 
charming but cruel lady of his heart. She does not hesi- 
tate to talk of Ganymede's attractiveness to Silvius; she 
dilates upon his graces, but is so anxious to make Silvius 
think that she is indifferent to these things that she con- 
tradicts herself in each sentence. 

"It is a pretty youth — not very pretty — 
But sure he's proud, and yet his pride becomes him. 
He'll make a proper man : the best thing in him 
Is his complexion : and faster than his tongue 
Did make offence his eye did heal it up. 
He is not very tall — 

There be some women, Silvius, had they marked him, 
In parcels as I did, would have gone near 
To fall in love with him : 
But for my part I love him not nor hate him not." 

Not even this could make the love-sick Silvius angry ; 
he counts the smallest act by which he has tried to tell of 
his devotion, for as he says : 

"If thou remember'st not the slightest folly 
That ever love did make thee run into, thou hast not 

William was more forward in his wooing of Audrey, and 
would have made rapid progress had it not been for Touch- 
stone, that most audacious of all fools. We might think 
it unnatural for Touchstone to have been attracted by 
Audrey, the simple country wench, but when we realize 
that she was the first thing he had ever had to love him 


for himself, we more readily understand how he could love 
her, as he said of her 

"A poor thing, but mine own." 

Then this prince of fools, weary with the constant effort 
to amuse, might find a certain restfulness in this poor 
country wench whom he need not attempt to amuse, since 
she could not even understand his witty sallies. Audrey 
is not so feeble-minded, however, as some seem to think ; 
it has been said of her that she is Shakespeare's female 
fool, but this is an entirely wrong idea, she is ignorant of 
the glamour and outward show of court life, and is a true 
child of the forest, but she is not by any means a fool. In 
one of the scenes between Audrey and Touchstone, he tells 
her that she does not understand his verse, and that he 
wishes the gods had made her poetical, and she answers 

" I do not know what poetical is, is it honest in word and 
Is it a true thing?" 

So Audrey at least knows how to be honest, if she does 
not know court manners and customs or poetry. 

The superficial observer would probably have thought 
that Audrey would have been attracted by William, who 
was her male counterpart, and not by Touchstone ; but 
Shakespeare more perfectly understood human nature, and 
knew that Audrey would naturally be flattered by Touch- 
stone's attentions, and that his winning manners, so differ- 
ent from anything she had ever come into contact with 
before, would be most acceptable to the simple country 

Phebe is a regular coquette, a piece of pastoral poetry, 
Audrey is only rustic. William's simple love-making is 
set at naught in comparison with Touchstone's gallant 


wooing, and Touchstone wins the day, the day which he 
himself says is a joyful day. 

The " Melancholy Jacques" poses as the "weeping phi- 
losopher" of the play, but the Fool Touchstone and the 
Rustic Corin are the wiser men. Corin is perfectly content 
with his life, and does not care to go beyond his present 
state ; as he says to Touchstone : 

"Sir, I am a true laborer; I earn that I eat ; get that I 
wear ; owe no man hate, envy no man's happiness ; glad 
of other men's good, content with my harm." 

His philosophy had nothing artificial about it, it was 
just what his common sense dictated ; he did not profess to 
be profound, but this he did know: "The more one sick- 
ens the worse at ease he is ; and that he that wants money, 
means and content is without three good friends ; that the 
property of rain is to wet, and fire to burn ; that good pas- 
tures make fat sheep, and that a great cause of the night 
is lack of the sun ; that he that hath learned no wit by 
nature nor art may complain of good breeding or comes of 
a very dull kindred." In all of the arguments between 
Touchstone and Corin, Touchstone always has the last 
"say," but Corin never seems to bear him any ill-will on 
that account. 

On the whole, the interest of "As You Like It " is more 
in what is said than in what is done. At the close of the 
play we are not left with harrowed feelings or great passion. 
We are quiet and happy as we leave these friends of ours, 
and the content of the wedded couples reaches us "as a 
strain of distant melody." 

Margaret H. C. Trapier. 



IN a grove of stately oak trees, 
Neath the Southern sky, 
Stands St. Mary's, true and noble, 
As in days gone by. 

Chorus: Far and wide, oh sound her praises, 
Chorus full and free ! 
Hail, St. Mary's, Alma Mater, 
Hail, all hail, to thee ! 

Well we know the little chapel, 

Still we hold it dear ; 
Still we seem to hear the music 

Rising sweet and clear. 

Chorus: Far and wide, etc. 

There the ivy and the roses 

Climb the old stone wall. 
There the daisies and the violets 

Softly rise and fall. 

Chorus: Far and wide, etc. 

Margaret Mason Young, 




Yesterday had been full of golden promises that danced 
in the happy sunbeams floating down upon the little 
village; for there in the little market-place crowded with 
Spanish soldiers and bright with Spanish senoritas, Fran- 
cesco's heart had spoken to Corda's and her's had under- 
stood. It had been scarcely more than a look, one word 
and a clasp of hands, but in the shower of June blossoms 


that fell from the casement windows down upon the moving 
regiment, the single rose that fell upon his upturned face 
had in it the strength of a farewell, an inspiration and a 

In all the weary days that followed, a new sweetness 
curved Corda's thin lips, and a great wonder grew in her 
dark eyes — those eyes which had seen and understood 
through all her thirty years of life, had understood with- 
out being herself comprehended. 

The step-mother and her three placid Spanish daughters 
wondered in their languid way at the new willingness with 
which their calmly selfish wishes were fulfilled — wondered 
and did not understand. How should they understand 
this woman who was more like her English father than the 
soft-eyed Spanish mother? 

But that was because they did not see her in the garden 
alone with the wealth of blossoms, when she put her arms 
about the glowing Spanish lilies and whispered to them 
her love — whispered lest even the breeze should hear her 
sacred little story. They did not see her as she stood look- 
ing toward the far-off west, or turning with a fierce light 
burning in her dark eyes to face the tall, rich blossoms. 
"God will not. He cannot take him from me — he is 
mine — mine — mine !" And she watched them with an 
imperious question in her eyes waiting for an answer. 
And the flowers smiled and nodded with a promise for 
future happy years in their vivid, brilliant faces. So peace 
came over Corda's soul, and she rested and waited for the 
news of Spanish victory and glory for Francesco. 

"You are always wanting to see the papers, Corda," the 
mother would say, with a fretful tone in her soft southern 
voice. "You were not always so full of interest; but you 
are like your father, full of wild fancies — may the Lord 
rest his soul, tho' the good God knows that he gave 
mine little" — but Corda was gone, as she always went 


when her dead father's name was mentioned by his widow, 
and Madam Concha was left looking after her with a soft, 
vacant little stare of non-comprehension. 

But news came at last, and as Madam Concha read the 
story of the great battle of San Juan, Corda could hear her 
muffled heart-throbs as she waited with a fierce agony 
through all the pious interjections and interlarding phrases 
with which the vivid account was read. "What does it 
matter if his mother were your mother's cousin?" she in- 
terrupted at last, when the mother had wandered off into 
the history of a soldier dead on the far-off battlefield. 
But the stream of talk continued, and Corda was forced to 
wait with set lips and bounding heart until Madam Concha 
began again the list of dead and wounded. 

" Colombe de Vardi — poor heart, and Giovanni — God rest 
his soul: both killed, and Francesco too," she went on 
complainingly, "and I had hoped that he would marry 
you, Corda, and now I suppose you will never be married, 
for there are few who will take a dowerless girl, and one 
who is no longer beautiful and young ; but I suppose you 
care no more than for all the other poor men, for you were 
always cold-hearted, Corda, and never liked poor Francesco, 
tho' at one time " — and she babbled off in a ceaseless flow 
of words, while Corda sat motionless with white set lips 
and drawn ashen face, seeing no sight and hearing no 
sound save the words "Francesco" and "Dead! Dead! 

At length, she rose mechanically and went out into the 
garden. The soft caress of the slow air struck like a blow 
upon her livid face, the dreamy sound of the far-off bells 
in the village floated up to her like echoes of another world, 
and the musical plash of the silver fountain made a dull 
roar in her ears. The twilight faded into dusk and the 
moon rose slowly through the fragrant mist of the garden, 


and yet Corda sat with folded hands and closed lips, there 
among the heavy flowers. 

Finally she rose with a sudden, passionate movement, and 
grasped the glowing lilies with a strong, fierce gesture. 
"You have lied to me," she whispered hoarsely, "you 
have lied," and she tore the flowers from their stalks and 
trampled them under her feet. 

Then she went in and set about her duties with a hard 
look in her deep-set eyes and a bitter curve in the lips 
that had lost their new-gained sweetness. 

And the mother and sisters wondered again, but they 
did not understand. 

The slow months crept on, and Corda was called an old 
maid in the village. The little children crept back when 
she passed by, for they feared the bitterness in her hard, 
thin face, and the season crept to June again, but no Lilies 
grow in Corda's garden to-day. 

Minna Curtis Bynum. 

was standing by the piano. Her 
jreat eyes gazed straight before her as 
not looking on earthly things. Her 
head was bent over the violin. Her firm 
hands touched the strings with lightness and speed, and the 
glorious music flooded the room. I stood spell-bound. Sud- 
denly the eyes faltered and dropped, the fingers trembled, 
and the music stopped with a discordant crash. 

I sprang from my chair and she turned quickly, almost 
fiercely, her eyes brimming with tears, and exclaimed 
"Monsieur, I could not!" I picked up the sheet of music 
that had fallen to the floor, and there, on the open page, in 
red ink, was written my direction, "Play with tenderness, 
lovingly." "Well," I said, taking the violin from her, 
"let me show you." I rendered it for her. Her cheek 
was still pale when I returned the instrument, and she left 
the room, asking to be excused, on the plea of headache. 

I paced my studio that day and half the night, my 
thoughts in the wildest confusion. At last, from the tumult 
of my troubled soul came a clear purpose, and my heart, 
so importunately demanding, now rested on the promise 
made to it. I would play to her and give her its mes- 
sage — that her master loved his pupil. 

At the next lesson, when she came to the ink-marked 
passage, I found my heart beating madly. What was that 
she was trying to hold back? — that something which, in 



spite of her, crept out between the notes and stole to my 
heart's depth — that stirred and thrilled and shook me. 
Almost suffocating, I went to the window. I had read a 
part of her secret ; I would tell her all of mine. The 
music stopped in a sudden wail. I turned, and my pupil 


was nervously fingering her music, her frightened eyes and 
trembling lips driving me from her with the merciless 
power of weakness. I picked up my violin. In a mo- 
ment my heart was pouring itself out to her — that I loved 
her, that I loved her, that I loved her. 

My pupil had seized her violin, and was playing with me. 
And now all the wild passion of my heart was satisfied by 
hearing, to my questioning, appealing strains, the answer- 
ing tones of love's brave confidence. Her heart-strings 
were answering my touch. And as the fullness of our bliss 
pealed out, our eyes met in one long look of love. The 
music died softly on the air, and we knew that we belonged 
to each other forever. 

There he stands, an idle, ragged, "not overclean," 
happy-go-lucky urchin. His papers droop from his 
hand, his cap is set jauntily on his unkempt locks, as he 
leans lazily against a lamp-post. His attitude is one of 
lordly content and indifference, for he is not in immediate 
need. The fact that the sun is shining warm upon him, 
and that he is not hungry, is sufficient to cause this peace. 
That his last remaining garments are by a super-human 
effort continuing to hold together, and that he has not the 
slightest idea where he will spend the coming night or get 
his next meal troubles him not at all. The present moment 
is all that could be desired, therefore why harass oneself 
concerning an indefinite future? The passers-by hurry to 
their individual cares and responsibilities and riches, but 
the small boy surveys the world from his sunny corner with 
the tranquil indifference of ease and plenty. The sun- 
light peeps through the tattered old hat and lights up the 
saucy, freckled face, with its inquisitive nose and bright 
eyes. He is his own master, and the tussle with the world, 
begun somewhat early in life, has sharpened to a wary in- 
telligence every one of his knowing features. He has 


been singularly unlucky to-day, and has not sold one of 
his papers, but what cares he as he stands there basking 
sumptuously in the sun ! 

The sun seemed half asleep as it almost stood still in 
the warm May air, high above the old apple-tree. The 
small, bare feet banged listlessly against the old pasture 
gate, trying to keep time to the lazy "pee-wee" of the little 
brown bird in the apple-tree. The old straw hat, the faded 
shirt, and the worn little trousers gleamed a bright spot in 
the old meadow lot. The bright eyes of the little boy 
looked lovingly on the little yellow dog sitting on his 
haunches by the fence. A bucket lay on its side near 
" Jip" — but what did they care if the cook did need water! 
They were dreaming — the boy of the fish in the dark hole 
under the big beech, of the thrush-nest he knew of down 
in the hollow, and of "water-melon time"; the dog of the 
rabbit-hunt he was going on and of the new kittens he 
had heard mewing in the barn the day before. 

He sat on a barrel in front of the village grocery, with 
his hands stuffed deep in his pockets, his black eyes 
sparkling with mischief, and his small body brimful of 
life. His dangling feet knocked against the side of the 
barrel to the time of a field song which found its way lazily 
and melodiously from his musical throat. What did he 
care if his clothes were ragged and dirty, his feet bare, and 
the crown of his hat gone? The warm air, sprinkled with 
dashes of yellow sunshine peeping through the tattered 
awning under which he sat, the singing birds, the drowsy 
hum of business within the little store, and his own joyful 
music filled him with happiness. The blackberry season 
was just over and the water-melon time was corning. All 
the future looked bright enough for him. 



High up in the midst of the great blue mountains, 
stretching across the green, soft valleys, lies a little 
spot that the gods love tenderly, for they have blessed it. 
The green, fragrant woods lie all around it, so still and 
peaceful in their darkness that one might almost fancy that 
angels' spirits wandered there. Through this quiet wood 
a tiny path, heavy with soft, deep moss and carpeted with 
tender little flowers, winds down to a tiny spring in the 
rocky side of the mountain. There is none of the spark- 
ling, shining, sunshiny laughter of the sister springs in 
this dark, quiet little one, for the laurel-trees stretch their 
green branches over it protectingly, and the glad, golden 
rays of the sun cannot reach it ; but in its clear, cold depths 
fragments of deep blue sky and tiny floating clouds appear 
for a moment as the gentle winds rustle through the mov- 
ing boughs above it. 

ST. MARY'S MUSE. • 87 

Over and through it all moves the very spirit of 
harmony. The wind moves softly through the branches, 
bringing with it the sighing of more distant pines. The 
murmer of an unseen stream, as it falls over the great 
grey rocks, is mingled with the faint tinkle of a cow-bell 
echoed from the rocky mountain side, and the grasses, 
swaying mournfully, whisper the secrets of the world 
to the little spring as they bend over its mossy sides. 
The very spirit of peace broods over it, and, in the midst 
of the restless, turbulent world, I know that there is one 
tiny spot where the sounds of earth are hushed, and one 
can lay one's ear to nature's heart and hear its quiet throbs 
and see her perfect beauty, and be at rest. 

We drove slowly up the dusty lane, lined with tall 
trees, through whose leafy branches the sun shone 
warmly. Before us stood the old farm-house with its broad 
verandas and open windows, around which the honey- 
suckle clambered in profusion, keeping off the rays of the 
morning sun and affording a cool, green shelter for a weary 
traveler on a hot June morning. The drowsy air about 
the whole place, the low murmer of the water running 
through the stone diary, gave one a pleasing sense of cool- 
ness and comfort, while the gentle splash, splash of the 
churn called up delicious memories and hastened our foot- 
steps towards that end of the veranda. 

There a young girl with sleeves rolled back, showing a 
pair of rounded white arms and dainty wrists, was smil- 
ingly giving the first lesson in churning to a tiny maid of 
six or seven. The happy, childish face was flushed and 
glowing with pride and the exertion of lifting the heavy 
dasher, the rosy lips were slightly parted in anticipation, 
the chubby hands grasped the dasher, and the dimpled 
arm worked valiantly up and down, and the tangled golden 

Hn flfcemoriam- 

Entereb into life eternal in tbe earls morning 
of ffebruarg 220, 

Bennett Smefres, 2). 2)., 

jfor twentg=two sears tbe beloveo IRector 
of St. /Ifcarg's. 

O, Almighty God, who hast knit together thine elect in 
one communion and fellowship, in the mystical body of thy 
Son Christ our Lord; grant us grace so to follow thy 
blessed Saints in all virtuous and godly living, that we 
may come to those unspeakable joys which thou hast pre- 
pared for those who unfeignedly love thee; through jesus 
Christ our Lord. Amen. 

"JBlesseo are tbe pure in beart, for tbep sball see Gob." 




The Junior Auxiliary has done good work this year. 
There has been a great deal of interest in the work, 
and an earnest effort to fulfill all our obligations. The 
Auxiliary is divided into four Chapters, having a teacher 
as directress of each. 


Directress, . . Miss McKimmon. 

President, . . Minna Curtis Bynum. 
Vice-President, . . Lucie B. Clifton. 
Treasurer and Collector, Josephine Ashe Osborne. 


Caroline Mitchell Means. 


Directress, . . Miss Hale. 

President, . . Mary Nash. 

Collector, . . . Louise Urquhart. 
Treasurer, . . Reba Bridgers. 

Secretary, . . . Anita de Rosset. 







Miss Cope. 

Emma Cralk Dunham. 

Beulah Ellis Armstrong. 

Pearl Pratt. 

Mildred Cunningham. 



Miss Jones. 

Sophie Wood. 

Annie Cameron Graham. 

Secretary and Treasurer, Eliza Harwood Drane. 



St. Monica's Chapter 
Has contributed to the following objects : 
Two boxes clothing and toys, Thompson Orphanage, 

valued at ..... 

$ 6.25 

Chinese Scholarship, .... 


Mite Chests, ...... 


Diocesan Missions, ..... 


Thompson Orphanage — Flour Fund, 


Church Postage Fund, .... 




St. Margaret's Chapter. 

Chinese Scholarship, .... 

$ 7.00 

Mite Chests, 


Dolls for Orphanage, .... 


Flour Fund, 




St. Elizabeth's Chapter. 

Chinese Scholarship, .... 

$ 6.00 

Japanese Orphanage, .... 


Mite Chests, 


Diocesan Missions, ..... 


Church Postage Fund, 




St. Cecilia's Chapter. 

Chinese Scholarship, .... 

$ 6.50 

Mite Chests, ...... 


Flour Fund 




Total amount from four Chapters, 


The Altar Guild has taken a great deal of pleasure, too, in 
keeping the Chapel bright with flowers, and there have been 
very few days this year when we could find nothing fresh 
and green. 


CLASS OF '99. 

President, . . Lucie Birdie Clifton. 

Secretary and Treasurer, Christiana Busbee. 

Prophet, . . . Alice Doane Smallbones. 

Historian, . . Josephine Ashe Osborne. 

Poet, . . . Minna Curtis Bynum. 

Lucy Katherine Cannady, Margaret Trapier, Annie 
Dughi, Nina Watson Green, Lillie E. Dodd, Kate Bronson 

Colors — White and Green. 

Flower — The Daisy. 


We have studied oue " Short History" this year, and 
lived another. We only wish there had been a fixed 
standard for the idea "Short." That idea and the history 
for which it stood have been the causes of much anguish 
of spirit, but of much pleasure likewise, since the only 
things worth having are those we toil for, and the greater 
the toil, the greater the blessing. We have not forgotten 
the tormenting syllogisms and brain-racking fallacies of 
the Logic Class when we proved that since he that eats 
most is least hungry, therefore he that eats least eats most. 
They haunted our dreams as hideous spectres lying in wait 
for the destruction of our happiness, but the transforming 
lustre of distance has lent them a strange beauty, so that 
their shadowy forms rise up to bless us. In the "Analogy," 
however, which we thought like nothing in heaven or 
earth, we now begin to trace some faint sign of the vaunted 
resemblance. We have together taken arms against a host 
of troubles, foremost among them the "Logarithmic func- 
tions of the trigonometrical ratios." 

But what care we for the trouble they cost? And now, 
like Alexander, we, too, sigh for more worlds to conquer. 



The year has not been long, nor our numbers great, yet 
our feelings, which are somehow surrounded with a haze of 
friendly interest, our hearts crowned with smiling success, 
and the difficulties which we lived to conquer, will always 
remain as bright and pleasant as they now appear. 

Josephine Ashe Osborne. 


Tune: " On the Banks of the Wabash." 

Every eye is filled with tears of joy and sorrow, 
Close within our Alma Mater's arms to-day, 

For to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow 
Will see her children scattered far away. 

Ah, the future ! who can tell what that will carry 
For us of life or death, of joy or woe, 

But our Alma Mater's loving words will tarry 
In heart and mind and brain where'er we go. 

Chorus : 

No length of years our loving hearts shall sever, 
While daisies blow and stars above us shine, 

"Alma Mater," "Vive Victor," and "forever," 
For we'll always be the Class of '99. 


And often in our hours of deepest sadness 
We will hear the Chapel music rising high, 

And our hearts will soar on music-wings of gladness, 
And lose themselves, perhaps, there in the sky. 

And the trees will whisper tidings that will fill us 
With knowledge of the world of hidden things, 

And the roses breathe their secrets that will thrill us, 
And the ivy bend to bless us where it clings. 


Then the joyous girlish faces rise around us, 
Bright visions of a happier day gone by; 

And our happy girlhood memories surround us, 
Then still will "Vive Victor" be our cry! 

In the ranks of battle we will falter never, 
And surely we will conquer in the fight ; 

For we'll wear the white and wear the green forever. 
We conquer in our Alma Mater's might. 


Minna Curtis Bynum. 


Christiana Busbee will appear 
With many a high degree ; 

Ye pedagogue, thro' life will jog 
With A. M. Ph. D. 

But Minna Bynum will be great, 
Her words enwrapped with fire ; 

A poet she, the world will free, 
And weary hearts inspire. 


Kate Caunady and Horner boys 

Will meet and flirt and sever : 
The boys may grow, and boys may go, 

But Kate will stay forever. 

Kate Connor's love for bank accounts 

Accounts for "Trig" well done, 
Next year she'll roam, and keep her home 

And bank accounts in one. 

But Birdie Clifton will not fly 

From out her nest away ; 
In shady nook, with yellow book 

And apples she will stay. 

And Lillie Dodd " a little bit 

Of everything" will do ; 
Not much at last, when all is past 

And pleased and lazy, too. 

But Annie Dug hi' s southern eyes 

Will cheer the weak and ill ; 
By deeds that soothe, and hands that smooth 

She'll gild the bitter pill. 

To Nina Green's great music school 

Both rich and poor will come ; 
She'll teach them all, both great and small, 

Their tum-te-tum-te-tum ! 

Jo Osborne as a pedagogue 

All records past will break ; 
She'll cause the hearts and other parts 

Of little boys to ache. 

And Alice Smallbones then will throw 

Philosophy in shade; 
Tho' philosophic all her life 

She'll be a real old maid ! 



But M. Trapier will prove that all 

The theoretic throng, 
Both gods and men, in tongue or pen, 

Were altogether wrong. 

Alice Doane Smallbones. 

Our Class Day was a great success. Everything we had 
planned worked out beautifully, and we only hope that the 
other girls enjoyed it half as much as we did. The pro- 
gram was as follows : 

1. Violin Solo — Blumenlied, 

Alice Doane Smallbones. 

2. Class History. 

Josephine Ashe Osborne. 

Know a Bank, 

Minna Curtis Bynum. 


3. SoNG- 

fo. A V 
\ b. I Ki 



4. Class Prophecy. 

Alice Doane Smallbones. 

5. Piano Solo — Chanson Joyeuse. 

Lucy Katherine Cannady. 

6. Presentation of Hatchet. 

Minna Curtis Bynum. 

n r> o f a. To a Wild Rose, ,, ^ 77 

7. Piano Solo — { , m, ^. , ■■ ^ MacDowell. 

I o. The Deserted r arm, 

Minna Curtis Bynum. 

8. Class Song — Chorus. 

After the exercises we had a most delightful banquet 
given us by the teachers, which we enjoyed thoroughry, 
while the breaking of the "Loving Cup" will always be 
cherished as one of the saddest, though the sweetest, mem- 
ories of our Senior Class at St. Mary's. 




Fads are distinctly an American failing, and still more 
distinctly the St. Mary Girls' Basket-ball is the 
latest, and the most deeply-rooted. Even the sleepy-heads 
will rise at six for a practise game. Even the lazy one 
will play by the hour on the hottest day. The spirit of 
Basket-ball has certainly inspired the school. Such mys- 
terious consultations as they hold, and such an air of 
conscious superiority toward non-devotees. 

The Cycling Club has had the most exciting spins this 
year. Nothing so nearly approaches the sensation of flying 
as the delightful motion along the smooth, hard road. For 
pure pleasure nothing can equal it, nor can anything else 
bring such roses to the cheeks. When we come in ravenous 
from a long brisk spin, we astonish the lazy stay-at-homes 
by our appetites, and they doubtless think us omnivorous 
animals of the cannibalistic species. We always tell of 
our charming and original adventures, and relate wonder- 
ful tales of the perfect roads. We never speak of the rocky, 



muddy lanes, of the punctured tires and twisted handle- 
bars. To hear our accounts one would imagine our tires 
impuncturable, our tools perfect; but then the first requisite 
for initiation into any club is the wearing of rose-colored 
glasses — green goggles strictly forbidden. So we have had 
delightful times, no hard knocks and bruises, and troubles, 
but all the exhilarating effect that seems to arise from such 
occurrences, judging from the Basket-ball. 

Basket-ball is new with us and Tennis rather old. Bas- 
ket-ball has its yell, Tennis has not; but nevertheless we 
Tennis players think that the older game has its advantages. 
Royalty has played it, and that can certainly not be said of 
Basket-ball. Not that we are sycophants, but it is a pleasure 
to have the support of good company. One advantage 
Tennis certainly has, and that is costume. One can look 
as pretty and dainty on the Tennis court as elsewhere, and 
we flatter ourselves that during these winter mouths our 
red caps have made the old grove brighter. We have had 
no match games, and so the Basket-ball can crow over us 
a little, but we have gone quietly on having a good time, 
and there have not been many days when some faithful 
devotee of the racquet was not visible on the smooth, white 



A Walking Club is certainly the most easily arranged 
club that one could have. No need of a President or Sec- 
retary, and best of all, no need of a Treasurer. The only 
requirements are short skirts, stout shoes and unlimited 
energy. Our expeditions were productive of something 
more than rosy cheeks and hearty appetites too, for in the 
fall we came home laden with autumn flowers, brilliant 
berries and gaudy leaves. Then we saw so many beautiful 
things always. There is nothing like a long ramble in the 
woods to escape, for a little while, from cares and worries, 
and to make one willing to take up the burden of life again. 
If one likes company, there is the throng of happy, earnest 
girls, ready to take you in and discuss anything and every- 
thing of interest. If, on the other hand, one wishes to be 
alone awhile to straighten out accounts with one's self, it 
is so easy to fall back a little bit and make little excursions 
into the woods for a bit of moss or a scarlet leaf. Then, 
when one comes back quiet and refreshed, the whole world 
seems brighter for that little ramble in the woods. 




Nell Emerson, 
Philips, . 


M ak ele y — Captain 
Color — Gold. 

Centre, \ 

Side Centre,! 

Forward 1, ( 

T, , „ .) learn. 

forward 2, / 

Guard 1, 

Guard 2, 



We're strong and bold, 

For we wear the gold, 
And play for the honor of Saints. 

Rah ! Rah ! Rah ! 

Rah ! Rah ! Rah ! 
And play for the honor of Saints ! 

Vaster ! 


There's dancing and strolling and singing, 

But the latest fad of all 
For the jolly girls of St. Mary's 

Is now the Basket-ball. 

To the Basket Ball Club of ST. MARY'S, May 6, 1899. 





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Chorus: Then hurrah for St. Mary's ! 

Hurrah for the members all ! 
Come, let us give three cheers 
For the girls of the Basket-ball. 

They are our jolly fellows, 

And — who's afraid of a fall? 
I tell you they're hard to beat — 

Those girls of the Basket-ball ! 

Chorus: Then hurrah for St. Mary's! 
Hurrah for all, we say ! 
Hurrah for the greatest of games, 
Played on the sixth of May ! 

You should see our gallant team 

Line up in battle array — 
(And you know a game is taking 

When you get up at five to play). 

Chorus: Three cheers let us give for the victor, 
And three for the vanquished too ! 
Hurrah for all the girls 

Who wear the white and blue. 

Then here's to our gallant captain, 
And here's to the girls, one and all ! 

Come, we'll cheer again for her 
Who started the Basket-ball ! 

Chorus : Then three cheers for old St. Mary's ! 

Three more for our teams — they're fine ! 
And one more for the good old times 
We've had in '99 ! 

Carrie Lawrens Wright. 

For once the elements proved propitious, and the great 
match game of Basket-ball came off on May 6th with 
great success. The field was surrounded with spectators, 
and white and blue ribbons were fluttering everywhere. 


During the first round there was breathless silence, broken 
now and then by excited shrieks from the on-lookers, 
" Sigma has it!" "Mu! Mu!" "Sigma has the ball!" 
Silence again, as the ball flies swiftly through the air. No 
goal! One minute still. The gallant captain of the Mu